All The Small Things
by The Talentless Hack
Summary: A collection of drabbles set in the “Captain Mis” universe. Up: 32. Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better; 33. Memento; 34. Sexy; 35. Back to the Drawing Board; and 36. Ten More.
1. Fresh Meat

**Title:** Fresh Meat

**Summary:** "A Wolf always notices fresh meat."

**Word Count:** 310

**A/N:** So when I use the word "drabble," I'm using it in the loose sense of the term, which is any piece under 1,000 words. Just so y'all know….

* * *

Weird.

That's all he can think of when he notices a short young woman he's never seen before at the counter, chatting and laughing with Shiori.

It's weird because…well, he's not quite sure why it's weird, but it feels that way, and he watches the young woman covertly, out of the corner of his eye, curiosity piqued. He's been a regular at this luncheonette for a year or so now, and he was the last new face to pop in here, so it's sort of an event that there's someone new today.

She's very young, he notices. He discreetly checks her clothing, and is genuinely surprised to find her in a navy blue pantsuit instead of a high school uniform. She looks sixteen at most, despite the light touch of make up and severe hairstyle. A secretary on her lunch break?

…Damn she's young, though.

She leaves after paying for the meal she ate while she spoke with Shiori, saying good-bye and mentioning she'd definitely be back tomorrow, and that's when Shiori finally notices him:

"Ah, Saitou-san! I'm sorry I made you wait."

"I don't mind," he replies, and it isn't a lie like it usually is. He purses his lips and leans against the counter, still watching the doorway. "New customer?" he asks conversationally, looking back over at her.

"Uh-huh," Shiori says. "Just started working today."

"She just graduate from high school today too?" he can't keep from asking, voice sardonic, and Shiori rolls her eyes.

"She's not that young," she chides.

"She looks like she skipped school today to dress up in her mother's clothes."

"Since when do you notice women?" Shiori asks suspiciously, one eyebrow raised.

Oops. Busted….

"Fresh meat, Shiori-san," he easily replies, after a moment's panic, smirking faintly in that vaguely snarky way he knows the older woman dislikes. "A Wolf always notices fresh meat."


	2. Unacceptable

**Title:** Unacceptable

**Summary:** Saitou's obnoxious and Tokio's resigned.

**Word Count:** 539

**A/N:** Tokio & Saitou's first official meeting. Poor Tokio….

* * *

She noticed him her first day in the luncheonette, when he strolled in as if he owned the place and leaned against the counter with all the grace of a man utterly at peace with his place in the grand scheme of things.

It was an attitude that made her stand up a little straighter and give him a second, longer look.

Almost immediately, she decided he was far too tall, and there's an insolence about his face that sort of grates on her nerves, but even though she's decided he's not acceptable and crossed him off the list doesn't mean she can't admire.

When she comes in the second day, he's already there, and she hears his voice for the first time.

And blushes.

It's a completely irrational response, but it's also an uncontrollable one, and she tries to ignore it as best she can when she steps up to the counter and bobs her head in greeting to Shiori.

"Tokio-san!" Shiori greets, looking happy to see her.

"Shiori-san," she replies, smiling; the too-tall policeman the proprietress was talking to is now watching her, and Tokio's face is flaming.

But her mother raised her to be polite, so she looks up at him and smiles.

"Hello," she greets.

He cocks his head and eyes her, then nods in acknowledgment, and she tries to hide her disappointment that he didn't say anything in return.

Damn….

"What'll it be today?" Shiori asks, and Tokio looks up at the menu thoughtfully, then turns to the policeman.

"Do you eat here often?" she asks.

He nods again—she wonders if he knows she's dying to hear his voice and he's purposely not speaking just to frustrate her, because he's got that kind of face—and she smiles widely.

"What do you recommend…" She glances at his uniform. "…Lieutenant?"

He's surprised and impressed that she figured out his rank on her own without prompting—she sees it before he covers it up.

"The soba's good," he says finally.

_Gods_, what a voice.

"Saitou-san!" Shiori snaps, then sighs. "Don't mind him—he refuses to eat anything other than soba."

Tokio smiles, a little dazed and arbitrarily picks something off the menu, and Shiori goes off to get her order to the cook.

"So it's Tokio-san, is it?" the too-tall policeman asks, in a sort of conversational way.

"Yes. Takagi Tokio. And it's Saitou-san, is it?"

He nods, and she has the oddest feeling he's found her out—maybe the little not-quite-sigh she couldn't quite keep in tipped him off.

"Shouldn't you be at school?" he asks lightly, and there's a sardonic note to his tone now, and damn him it just makes him sound so…_oh gods_….

She sends him a frosty look—even if he does have a great voice, it's an obnoxious question and he's doing it on purpose, what's more.

"I graduated from college, I'll have you know," she says with dignity.

"Child prodigy, Chiisai?"

It takes her a moment to realize what he's called her, but it's more than enough time to reach a conclusive decision:

Lieutenant Saitou is a big arrogant jerk.

Tokio twitches a little.

And wonders why, with her abominable luck with men, she didn't see this coming.


	3. The Game

**Title:** The Game

**Summary:** It's evil of him, he knows. But that's part of the fun.

**Word Count:** 252

**A/N:** Happy Valentine's Day all! I don't usually "celebrate," but this year I figured, what the hell, why not? And what better way to celebrate than to update the long ignored _Small Things_ collection? So I give you a dose of SaitouTokio odd-ball romance. Enjoy!

* * *

It's evil of him, he knows.

But that's part of the fun.

He's not sure when he decided to make it a game, teasing Tokio. All he knows for sure is that she gives him the best reactions, and he really enjoys watching her cheeks go pink. From there, it quickly becomes a matter of how many times in ten to fifteen minutes he can make those cheeks go pink.

So far, he's been doing pretty well—the first couple of days, just looking at her and greeting her was enough. Smiling at her was just as good.

It's on the fourth day that he decides he really likes her; getting embarrassed by some of his remarks doesn't mean she can't snap back a reply, and after he got over his surprise the first time she did it, he grinned in appreciation and commended her on it (which, of course, brought on another pretty little blush). She has a brain and uses it and he finds that attractive.

The fact that she looks delectable in her prim little business suits doesn't hurt either.

She's cute when she blushes. There's no other description that fits as well. Well, "pretty" would fit just as nicely, but it doesn't say anything about her personality the way "cute" does, which is why he never even considered it.

He doesn't know when he decided to make a game of it, teasing Tokio.

But he knows for sure it's the best game he's ever played in his life.


	4. Casual Monday

**Title:** Casual Monday

**Summary:** Saitou's off; Tokio's surprised

**Word Count:** 999

**A/N:** Ack! I just barely made it!

* * *

It's probably really dumb, but despite not technically working today, she shows up at the luncheonette.

Just to see if a certain too-tall, snarky, smirking police lieutenant is around.

All right, it _is_ really dumb, but Tokio ignores that truth, especially when, to her delight, she sees him walk in, hands in his pockets.

His _jeans_ pockets.

Tokio blinks in surprise and can't help but stare.

Saitou isn't in his uniform. He's in civilian clothes, jeans and a shirt and sneakers, a cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth.

And she'd thought he looked good in his uniform.

…Good gods did those jeans do him justice.

Cue the first blush of the day.

He's surprised to see her too, but only for a moment, and then that familiar smirk is back on his face and Tokio has the urge to both sigh like a moony-eyed teenage girl (which she is, technically, at least for another two months) and sigh in pained resignation, because by now she knows what that smirk means.

"Fancy seeing you here Takagi-san," he drawls around his cigarette.

"Saitou-san," she primly says, inclining her head ever so slightly in a way that she knows amuses him because his smirk isn't quite as threatening anymore.

"Don't you ever get days off?"

"I'm still a newbie," she says. "Newbies don't get days off."

"Never knew the museum business was so cutthroat," he remarks with that glint in his eye that tells her he's teasing her now.

"You'd be surprised," she dryly replies, and he grins and she feels delight dance up and down her spine, the way it does every time she plays along with his game and he gifts her one of those pleased grins in return.

He crushes out his cigarette in the ashtray Shiori pointedly puts down in front of him before moving on, and sends her an amused look.

"So what exactly does the newbie do at this cutthroat museum that she works at?"

"Associate Director," she replies, and this time he isn't able to hide his surprise the way he usually can.

He stares at her, and she's pretty sure that if he hadn't had more restraint, his jaw would have dropped too.

"'_Associate Director_'?" he repeats incredulously. "You're barely out of high school!"

She sends him a flat look.

"Oh be quiet," she mutters irritably.

"You're kidding, right?" he asks after a minute.

"Do I look like I'm kidding, Saitou-san?" she asks coolly.

"Well right now you look like you ate something that didn't agree with you," he replies, and she glares at him. "All right, all right," he says, holding up both hands in a placating fashion, and her eyes narrow in on the calluses there.

"How did you get those?" she asks curiously, her pique already forgotten.

He raises an eyebrow, then turns a hand around to look at the palm.

"What, these?" he asks, shrugging when she nods. "Kenjutsu."

"Oh, you trained?"

He shrugs again.

"Yeah, some."

"Any good?"

He smirks this time, and Tokio rolls her eyes, knowing what's coming.

"The best there is, Chiisai," he says smugly, and she rolls her eyes again.

"I'm sure," she replies, and he looks mildly put out that she doesn't appear to believe him.

Before he can tease her into admitting his prowess, however, Shiori returns with both their orders, and Tokio is amused that Saitou didn't even have to order his meal; if there is one cute thing about the man, it is his obvious love of soba. It's such a little-kid thing, to insist on having the same thing for lunch every day, and she finds it oddly endearing.

They settle into companionable silence while they consume their meals, and Tokio thinks that this is really very nice, and wishes he could stick around more often.

"So how good are you really?" she asks when they're done; she's just killing time now, not really ready to go back to work when Saitou's still around.

"At kenjutsu?" he asks, pulling out another cigarette.

"Uh-huh."

He strikes a match and lights his cigarette thoughtfully.

"Well, I guess I'm all right," he says, serious now. "I never took lessons formally, you understand—my old man taught me."

"Really?" she asks, surprised.

He nods.

"Dad's good—he never took lessons formally either. Taught himself." His gaze pins her down from the corner of his eye and he smirks faintly. "What about you, Chiisai?"

She frowns at him.

"My name is not Chiisai, Saitou-san," she returns, and leads the conversation away from the old warrior arts. She's never been shy about letting men know that she takes karate, but she knows that that changes their perception of her, makes her seem less feminine, and she doesn't want Saitou looking at her like that.

For the first time in her life she wants to be girly for a man.

Eventually, she has to leave and she says good-bye to Shiori and Saitou and picks her purse up off the counter.

"Oi," Saitou says just before she leaves, and she pauses and looks over her shoulder. "I'll give you a demonstration one of these days," he offers, smiling an odd little smile she doesn't recognize. "Then you can judge for yourself if I'm any good."

She considers him, then smiles in return.

"All right," she says. "Sure, Saitou-san."

He winks at her and turns back to the counter and she leaves, blushing and a little taken aback; it's almost as if he's… Tokio raises an eyebrow…_flirting_ with her.

The blush deepens.

She decides she likes the thought, even if she's not sure if it's true.

It occurs to her, as she's walking back to the museum, that his offer could be called a date, in the loosest sense of the word. She doubts, however, that he means it that way. She also doubts that he was serious about it in the first place.

Still…she likes the idea of having a standing "date" with Saitou.


	5. Seeing The Light

**Title:** Seeing the Light

**Summary:** He isn't sure exactly, but he thinks he might be in love.

**Word Count:** 368

**A/N:** Love hurts. : ).

* * *

He isn't sure exactly, but he thinks he might be in love.

She's not his usual type, though, and that throws him off for the first month after he becomes aware of her. She's small and demure and exceedingly polite, and his tastes have never been on the small, demure or exceedingly polite side.

He's a beast, a Wolf at heart, and he's always sought out women from the same tribe, who spoke his language, and this soft-spoken little bellflower definitely doesn't speak his language.

Hell, he'd be surprised if she could bring herself to hurt flies.

And then, of course, she stomped on his foot hard with her heel one fine spring day when he was being especially obnoxious, and he almost bit his tongue in half to keep from yelping in pain and surprise, and that little fantasy ended in a merciless, brutal heartbeat.

He recovered after a few moments, and sent her an incredulous, "Did-you-actually-do-what-I-think-you-just-did?" look and she stared back at him, expression completely innocent and eyes wide and almost childlike.

"Did you…just…step on my foot?" he asked, voice tinged with disbelief.

She blinked.

"No," she said, sounding surprised he'd asked. "Whatever gave you that idea, Saitou-san?"

Oh…maybe the _throbbing pain_ in his left foot.

He didn't have any actual proof that she really had stepped on him though, and besides that it was hard to believe she'd be capable of it. Logically, it had to be her, because she was standing right next to him on his left, and as far as he knew he hadn't stepped on his own foot (and ground his heel into it for good measure), but she _couldn't_ have done it. Not her. Not sweet, innocent little Chiisai…right?

…Maybe he'd misjudged her. By a lot.

His reward for this spectacular miscalculation is a limp that lingers for days and sore toes that make him wince for a week.

One good thing did come out of it, though: he's pretty sure now that she isn't quite so different from his usual type after all. She's just a little more civilized, a more domesticated member of his tribe.

But she still speaks his language—she just speaks it a little softer.

…Oh yeah, it's love.


	6. Chopsticks

**Title:** Chopsticks

**Word Count:** 513

**Summary:** It's a small thing, but she takes pleasure in it all the same.

* * *

She wonders why he always grabs the disposable chopsticks from the communal container with such distaste on his face, as if offended or perhaps annoyed that he has to use them. So, because Tokio is nosy and curious and inquisitive (her papa says the latter two are among her most endearing character traits, and gently adds that she ought to work on the former), she asks one day,

"What's with the death glare?"

The question makes him pause.

"What death glare?" he asks.

"The one you're aiming at the chopsticks."

The death glare returns, and he balefully eyes the connected sticks he's holding.

"I hate these things," he mutters. "They always break uneven and I have to eat my food with a little mutant chopstick."

She manages not to laugh at the mental image of his eating soba with a "little mutant chopstick" but no power on Earth can keep her from smiling.

"Here," she says, plucking the offending flatware from his hand and snapping it in half; both sticks are the same length, the break clean.

She hands them back to him, and he takes them with a surprised look on his face that has her smiling wider.

"How the hell did you do that?" he demands.

She shrugs.

"Just did it," she replies, and he grumbles that that isn't an answer and she's not telling him just to annoy him.

"Well, that'd be a first, wouldn't it?" she mildly says, and he shoots her a warning look.

"If you don't tell me, you'll have to break them for me from now on," he warns.

The idea appeals to her far more than she cares to admit. It's a small thing, perhaps, snapping a pair of wooden chopsticks in half for him, but Tokio has a feeling that Saitou rarely asks for (or maybe that should be demands?) assistance with anything.

Which may be why he's eaten his soba with one little mutant chopstick for so long.

"I'm willing to run that risk," she says flippantly, plucking her own pair from the container and snapping them in half, the break clean again.

The next day, he sends her an expectant look, and she obligingly reaches over, takes a pair of chopsticks out of the container and snaps them cleanly in half for him, and he once again grudgingly admires the break; she comes to realize, after a few more times, that this is his way of saying thank you without having to lower himself to actually saying the words, a realization which makes her laugh when it strikes her on her way back to the museum.

"He's such an idiot," she says, affection coloring her tone.

But she doesn't mind. She feels a little honored, even, which probably makes her as ridiculous as him.

Still, though. It's not every day a guy like Saitou asks for (demands) assistance, after all, even with something so insignificant as chopsticks. So Tokio is more than happy to break his chopsticks for him.

It's a small thing, but she takes pleasure in it all the same.


	7. Soba

**Title:** Soba

**Word Count:** 711

**Summary:** The Great Soba Debate's humble beginnings.

* * *

"You never order soba," he said one day.

Tokio sent him an amused look.

"Well, you order it everyday—it evens out."

"I'm serious," he said. "Do you not like it?"

Tokio shrugged; Saitou frowned.

"What kind of answer is that?" he demanded.

"It wasn't an answer," she replied.

"No kidding," he said dryly.

"It was an acknowledgment that you asked a question."

"The question only has two answers Chiisai—yes or no."

She twitched and sent him a venomous look that he ignored, and after a moment she impatiently said,

"But I didn't _answer_ the question—I _acknowledged_ it."

"No, acknowledging it would be making a sound like 'Hm'. You shrugged; that's not acknowledging anything."

"I didn't feel like answering the question."

"So you shrugged?"

"Uh-huh."

Saitou decided that this line of questioning was fruitless. And also, you know, stupid.

"Order soba."

"I already ordered my lunch, Saitou-san."

"Well order it tomorrow."

"No, I don't think I will."

"You have to order it eventually."

"Actually, I don't."

"So you're going to order everything on the menu eventually except for the soba."

Tokio shrugged again.

"See, now that's an appropriate response," he couldn't resist saying. "It tells me absolutely nothing, of course, but at least you're using it in the right context now."

"Has anyone ever told you you're neurotic?" she asked dryly.

"Several times," he assured her.

"As long as you're aware…."

"The soba isn't bad, you know." he said, deciding to ignore that.

"I'm sure it isn't," she diplomatically replied. "Shiori-san's food is always good."

"Order it."

"I already ordered my lunch, Saitou-san."

"Then order it tomorrow."

"…Didn't we just have this same conversation not two minutes ago?"

"Don't change the subject."

"Why so insistent on me ordering the soba?"

"Why so insistent on not ordering the soba?"

"Who's not answering the question correctly now, hm?" she asked wryly with a faint smirk and a raised eyebrow and he resisted the sudden impulse to grab her and kiss her.

Honestly. She'd be the death of him.

"Don't change the subject."

"I'm just making an observation," she said mildly.

Shiori finally came back with Tokio's lunch, and Tokio thanked her and then reached over and grabbed a pair of chopsticks from the container and snapped them in half and handed them to him. He took them, dropped them into his bag and rolled the top down, then looked back at her.

"Order the soba," he said, and she rolled her eyes, turned around and began chatting with Shiori, apparently deciding that ignoring him was the best route.

When he strolled in the next day, she hadn't arrived yet, and he mentioned the argument to Shiori, who rolled her eyes.

"What is it with you and soba?" she asked, sounding truly stumped.

He shrugged.

"Just like it."

"Maybe she doesn't," Shiori pointed out, and Saitou looked offended by the comment.

"I bet I get her to order the soba one of these days," he said, and Shiori snorted.

"Yeah right."

"I'm serious."

"Saitou-san, not everyone is as big a fan of soba as you are."

"Twenty-five hundred yen says I do it in less than ten years."

"You couldn't do it in twenty."

"Are you taking it or not?" he challenged, and Shiori eyed him, then shrugged.

"I hate to rob a man blind like this, but if you insist, fine."

Saitou smirked.

"Start saving up Shiori-san," he drawled. "I don't take checks."

"Oh be quiet," the older woman muttered, moving away to take the order of a man who'd just walked in.

Tokio arrived a few moments later and greeted him cheerfully, which he returned (just, you know, not cheerfully because that wasn't his style), and then said,

"So, ordering the soba today?"

She paused, and sent him a dry look.

"Oh we're not going to do this again, are we?"

"Are you going to order the soba?"

She smiled sweetly.

"Mmm…no," she said finally. "Curry rice please Shiori-san," she called to the older woman as she breezed by on her way to the kitchen to deliver an order.

"She wants the soba," Saitou said, and Tokio sent him an incredulous look.

"Curry rice," she said.

"Soba."

"_Curry rice_."

"_Soba_."

…This was going to be a long ten years.


	8. On Cigarettes

**Title:** On Cigarettes

**Summary:** It's not ideal, but Tokio can live with it.

**Word Count:** 177

**A/N:** Whee! _Small Things_ is getting attention again, and it didn't take two months (or so)! XD

It's a slightly smaller dump this time, kiddies. Enjoy!

* * *

On the few occasions that the smell of nicotine clings to Saitou's uniform, it doesn't bother her; she grew up with her uncle Toji smoking, so the scent is familiar and not unpleasant, because summers with her uncle made for good memories, and that smell is part of those good memories. 

She's noticed that the days when he seems edgiest, when his face seems tightest, are the ones when the scent of cigarette smoke hangs on to him. She's also noticed that he seems to lose a great deal of his tension when she arrives, on those days.

So, when she arrives and catches a strong whiff of nicotine on him, she goes out of her way to make him forget whatever headaches are plaguing him. It's always at her expense, of course, and part of her really wishes there was a way of getting him in a better mood that didn't involve damage to her poor ego.

But the other part of her is delighted that she can cheer him up as absolutely as she does.


	9. The Jerk

**Title:** The Jerk

**Summary:** Your level of personal offense is directly proportional to how much you give a damn.

**Word Count:** 487

**A/N:** Some warnings for language, so those of you sensitive to that, be warned.

* * *

When Souji called him a jerk, he didn't care, because it was Souji. They'd been friends long enough that the other man shouldn't be surprised by this fact anymore, so when he tried to play the sympathy card and was outright ignored, Saitou was of the opinion that he really should have been expecting it.

When his sister called him a jerk, he cared just a little bit, because even if she was annoying and bossy and an infuriating know-it-all, he still loved her. Except when she visited him and told him he'd been putting the toilet paper the wrong way, folding the spare towels wrong, smoking too much and drinking too much and not eating enough. Then, he kind of wished he'd been born an only child.

When his brother called him a jerk, he didn't care, because his brother was a moron and Saitou firmly believed that the opinions of morons were irrelevant. Unfortunately, his brother usually followed that declaration with an attempt to bash Saitou's face in, so he couldn't ignore him the way he could Souji. But that was okay, because he got to beat on his brother instead, and that was a lot more satisfying than ignoring him.

When Yaso called him a jerk, he cared just a little bit, because Yaso wasn't a bad person, and she hadn't deserved to be ignored the way he'd ignored her. So when she called him up on their anniversary and left him those nasty messages, he didn't erase them right away, and let them sit in the machine for a week. Sometimes he thought about calling her back and apologizing, but the last time he'd tried that she'd _really_ let him have it, and he was of the opinion that being verbally berated once a year was enough. Plus, he'd never realized just how fuckin' _mean_ she could be; since they'd divorced, she'd added some new words to her vocabulary, and she was _real_ creative with their usage.

When Senpai called him a jerk, he didn't care, because it was Senpai. They hadn't known each other for as long as he and Souji had, but it was, in Saitou's opinion, long enough for Senpai to have come to terms with and accepted this fact. So Saitou pretty much ignored him too, unless Senpai wanted to act like a dick and start needling his younger friend about Yaso or women in general.

But when Tokio called him a jerk, he _definitely_ cared. _A lot_. It even hurt a little, which was weird, because even Yaso's calling him a jerk only made his conscience twinge just a tiny bit. He knew she was only playing (he _hoped_ she was only playing), but he still felt a little insulted when she did. In fact, it almost made him seriously consider toning down his jerk-ness.

Saitou snorted.

Hell. If that wasn't a sign of the Apocalypse, nothing was.


	10. The Pervert Voice

**Title:** The Pervert Voice

**Summary:** The birth of the infamous "pervert voice." Poor, _poor_ Tokio.

**Word Count:** 318

* * *

It's the single creepiest thing she's ever heard in her entire life, and coming from him, it's so shocking that her reaction is delayed by several seconds.

Because Saitou is many things, she's learned, but she was _sure_ he was _not_ one of those. He's occasionally rude and always obnoxious. He's occasionally sweet and always charming (which should be impossible, but he manages it in that weird, irritating-but-somehow-endearing way of his). He smokes too much and smirks too much and thinks far too much of himself. But none of _that_ equaled _this_, at least in her mind, so she's understandably surprised when he leans over so that his mouth is very close to her ear and murmurs, in a voice that has dropped several octaves and makes her think of obscene phone calls at unholy hours of the night,

"Still feelin' lucky, Chiisai?"

And she isn't expecting either his change of tone or sudden change of proximity, and she definitely isn't expecting the way it suddenly got very hard to breathe (in fact, about the only thing that doesn't surprise her is the blush she feels heating her cheeks), but she manages to react instinctively:

"YOU PERVERT!"

…And draw the stare of every single one of the luncheonette patrons, along with Shiori and Kuno the cook, with her indignant shout. Once again, she's managed to publicly humiliate herself. And once again, she notes balefully, he's enjoying it—the snort of uncontrollable laughter from him tells her so.

_Why me?_ she moans silently as her face heats further and she sort of hopes for a handy little hole to open up under her and swallow her whole.

Naturally, because Fate and the gods hate her like that, nothing of the sort happens.

Then again, seeing as how Fate, the gods or both conspired for her to meet the bastard currently laughing at her expense, she really shouldn't be surprised.


	11. Objects of My Affections, 1

**Title:** Objects of My Affections, 1

**Summary:** The beginning of a beautiful fetish.

**Word Count:** 345

* * *

The first time she ever wore a skirt he stared at her legs for five minutes before she ordered—not asked but ordered—him to stop ogling her.

She doesn't have long legs (she barely comes up to his shoulder when he stands up straight) but they're shapely and firm and he spins at least eighty new fantasies around them alone that would have made her blush bright red, possibly permanently. He doesn't share this with her because there's a good chance she'd never talk to him ever again, and it took him a ridiculously long time to convince her he wasn't a complete dick, he just had his moments, that's all (though he knows he'd enjoy watching her sputter and fidget, and realizes this is probably evidence to the contrary of his assertion).

And then came the day she wore the blue skirt.

It was shorter than the other ones she usually wore, but still long enough that no one but a hard-line conservative would object.

And Saitou _worshipped_ that skirt.

He freely admitted it, wasn't at all embarrassed by it, because the slits up the sides always flashed a little bit of thigh when she walked, and that was reason enough to worship a skirt in his book. So he began keeping mental track of her wardrobe so that he could predict when next he'd get to worship the skirt. And after a year, he had it down to a science: the skirt made an appearance every two weeks while it was still warm out, and the days it was most likely to appear were Thursdays, Fridays or Saturdays.

And if that was a little creepy-stalker-ish…well, so what?

The skirt made him happy, as ridiculous as that was. Those brief little flashes of thigh courtesy of those slits made his day. Hell, made his _week_.

So of course he'd hold the skirt near and dear to his heart.

And if that was a little creepy-pervert-ish…well, so what? At least he wasn't trying to steal the damn thing from her closet.

…For now.


	12. Consulting the Yen

**Title:** Consulting the Yen

**Summary:** The yen is all-knowing, the yen is all-powerful, and a damn good way of settling an argument…unless you lose, that is.

**Word Count:** 806

**A/N:** Some language to watch out for, those of you sensitive to that. Otherwise, enjoy. : )

* * *

She had a sneaking suspicion that sometimes he started these ridiculous arguments with her just to be a contrary ass, and she was of the opinion that he was excellent at it.

Being a contrary ass, that is.

"You're being ridiculous," she informed him, fighting the urge to whack the smirk off his face.

This was proving to be very difficult.

"Why Chiisai, I'm just stating facts," he dryly replied.

_Excruciatingly_ difficult, as a matter of fact.

"You're making that up," she accused, glaring at him.

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

Okay. This was getting her nowhere.

"Fine," Tokio said abruptly, zipping her purse open and fishing out her wallet. "We're going to settle this once and for all."

"Oh?" he inquired, one eyebrow raised as he watched her.

"Uh-huh," she replied, digging through her billfold to find what she was looking for. She found it and snatched it up with a triumphant "Ah-ha!" and held it up for him to see.

He stared at it incredulously for a moment, before shifting that incredulity to her.

"You're _kidding_ me, right?"

"Not in the least," she assured.

"You want to _flip a coin_?"

She sent him a dry look.

"Because what we were doing before was _so_ much more mature?"

He sent her a sullen look that told her he saw her point and agreed with her, but he wasn't happy about it, and he damn sure wasn't going to say he agreed with her out loud.

Tokio decided she could live with that.

"Call it—heads or tails," she ordered, getting ready to flip it.

"I don't think so," he said, snatching it from her. "How do I know you won't cheat?"

"Well you aren't going to flip it either," she said, snatching the coin back from him. "I don't know that you won't cheat."

They eyed each other suspiciously for a moment, then nodded:

"Third party," they said in unison.

"Neutral," Tokio added.

"Naturally," Saitou agreed. "So who's it gonna be?"

"Not Shiori-san—conflict of interest," Tokio decided thoughtfully. "Probably best to pick someone random."

"Who's doing the picking?"

"Me," she said.

"Are you _crazy_? Why do you think I wouldn't let you flip it in the first place?!"

"You'd just scare anybody you asked," she pointed out, and he paused, then sent her that same sullen look again.

"Fine," he muttered. "So pick someone already."

She ended up picking the man on Saitou's right, and smiling at him in a coaxing manner to get him to agree, since Saitou's expression had moved from mild annoyance to "I'm-going-to-rip-your-heart-out-of-your-chest-and-EAT-IT." She wasn't entirely sure, but she thought the change in expression might have occurred when she'd asked the guy on her left (who'd taken one look beyond her, presumably at Saitou, and then quickly and violently declined), since up to then, he'd been okay.

Or as okay as Saitou could be, anyway.

So the man agreed and flipped the yen, and Tokio called "Heads" while it was in the air. The man caught it and slapped it onto the back of his hand and looked.

"Lady's got it," he said.

"The hell she does," Saitou snapped. "Flip it again."

"Uh-uh, one flip," Tokio said.

"You cheated," Saitou accused.

"Oh I did not! How could I have cheated? I didn't even touch it!"

"You flirted with the flipper."

Her jaw dropped.

"I did _not_!"

"Did too."

"_I did_ _not_!"

"I watched you!"

"Well get your eyes checked 'cause I didn't flirt with him!"

"My eyes are fine."

"I _beg_ to differ."

"I know what I saw, Tokio."

"No you _don't_, you deluded psychopath."

"Sticks and stone, _Chiisai_."

"Don't call me that!"

The man, nervous now, coughed.

"Uh, so you want this back?" he asked cautiously.

"No," Tokio said tightly, eyeing Saitou balefully. "You're flipping it again—heads I was flirting with you, tails I wasn't. And after that, you're flipping it again to see if this ahou needs to get his eyes checked—_which he does_."

"I don't need a fucking yen to tell me you were flirting with him—I know what I saw," Saitou tightly snapped, returning her glare with interest.

"We're flipping the yen again!" she snapped back, then turned her glare on the man watching them in stupefied horror. "_Well_?"

The man, startled, immediately did just that, obviously not wanting anything to do with her temper.

When Saitou left fifteen minutes later, Tokio had won their original argument and the one about him needing his eyes checked, but he'd won the one about her flirting with the guy flipping the yen.

And judging by the smug, self-satisfied look on his face, he was fine with two-to-one.

"Stupid yen," she muttered sourly, dropping it back into her wallet.

Tch. Now even her own money betrayed her.


	13. Dr Love

**Title:** Dr. Love

**S****ummary: **Saitou's having a psychotic episode. He _hopes_, anyway.

**Word Count:** 982

**A/N:** A warning or two for language and content. Because it's Saitou and Okita—'nuff said. XD Also, if you haven't read _Captain Miserable_, this one contains spoilers for Saitou and Okita's pasts…so read _Captain Miserable_ first. : )

* * *

"You need a woman."

Saitou slowly turned his head and sent his friend an incredulous look.

"What?" he asked finally.

"I said, you need a woman," Okita repeated.

Saitou stared at him some more, wondering if this was some horribly fucked up dream. Because in all their years of friendship, they'd never once given each other unsolicited advice, at least seriously. _On anything_. And even if they _had_, it would _not_ have been on their respective love lives, because that was pansy shit, as far as Saitou was concerned.

To make sure this was not actually happening, he pinched himself as hard as he could, and then frowned and rubbed the abused area.

Fuck. It wasn't some sick dream.

His eyes narrowed as another thought occurred: psychotic episode? That had some definite possibilities. There was no denying that Saitou was as likely as anyone to flip out and lose his mind. Hell, he was _more_ likely; most people hadn't once killed other people for a living.

Saitou nodded and decided this was simply his first psychotic episode (not that he knew if this had happened before or not, he was just assuming…were you supposed to remember it when you flipped out and went bat-shit?); he and Okita weren't really sitting in the living room of Saitou's apartment, drinking beer with their feet propped up on the table, watching the Tokyo-Osaka game and talking about Saitou's love life. Saitou didn't know where he could be, but he was sure that it wasn't really where he seemed to be at this particular moment.

That cleared up, he decided to ride the episode out, and hope that no one he knew was anywhere around him.

"Is that right?" he asked.

"Uh-huh," the Okita-who-wasn't-Okita replied importantly. "Last time I saw you with a chick was a year ago."

"Just because the last time you saw me with a woman was last year doesn't mean I haven't been with a woman since then, ahou," Saitou dryly remarked.

Okita-who-wasn't-Okita had the gall to snort.

"Whatever dude," he said good-naturedly, like he was humoring Saitou, and Saitou narrowed his eyes and glared at the other man, wondering if it was possible to murder someone who wasn't actually there with you.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're a fuckin' hermit, Haji," Okita-who-wasn't-Okita replied, still grinning that obnoxious grin that was making Saitou very seriously consider hitting him. Hard. "You don't date."

"That's right, I don't _date_, I _fuck_," Saitou snapped. "So what?"

"Are you telling me you just pick women up, have sex with them and that's _it_?" Okita-who-wasn't-Okita asked, incredulous.

Saitou sent him a "Yeah-dumb-ass-what'd-you-think-I-did?" look. It was quiet for a minute, and then Okita-who-wasn't-Okita burst out,

"How the _fuck_ do you _do_ that?!"

Saitou rolled his eyes and went back to watching the game.

"I'm serious! Tell me! You're the crankiest, rudest asshole I know, but somehow you manage to—"

Saitou tuned out Okita-who-wasn't-Okita.

_Huh_, he thought, taking a swig of his beer, eyes on the TV screen, _Osaka's beating the ever-loving shit out of Tokyo. If this keeps up, I'll owe Souji money. Then again, since this isn't really happening, maybe I won't. You don't have to settle bets with figments of your imagination, right?_

A sharp crack to the head with the remote brought his attention back to Okita-who-wasn't-Okita-but-apparently-shared-Okita's-death-wish.

"What the _fuck_, asshole?!" Saitou demanded, holding the back of his head and glaring at his violence-inclined apparition.

"I'm talkin' to you, dick," Okita-who-wasn't-Okita snapped.

"So?"

"So it's rude not to pay attention when someone's talkin' to you!"

"And I give a shit why?"

"See, _that's_ what I'm talkin' about!" Okita-who-wasn't-Okita announced. "How the fuck do you convince women to sleep with you? The second you open your mouth, they should want to run away in the other direction!"

"Well they don't," Saitou snapped. "And just because I act like a dick with you doesn't mean I'm like that all the time, retard."

Okita-who-wasn't-Okita sent him a suspicious look.

"What? You're sayin' you can act _human_ once in a while?"

"Fuck you Souji," Saitou muttered.

"I don't believe you," Okita-who-wasn't-Okita said. "I think they just sleep with you because they're drunk—that's it, isn't it? It's not that you can be charming if you want to, it's that they're too drunk to tell that you're bein' an asshole."

Saitou's reply was to punch Okita-who-wasn't-Okita in the side of the head.

Later, once the fight had ended and ice had been applied as needed, Saitou reflected on what Okita (who it turned out had _not_ been a figment of his imagination) had said. A lot of the time, he tended to ignore his friend, because Okita talked a lot of shit, but he supposed this time the other man had a point—perhaps Saitou might benefit from actually attempting a relationship. He'd been divorced for a while now, and as nice as it was not to have to deal with someone else's shit, this whole "wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am" business was getting old.

This naturally led to thoughts of Tokio, and he grinned a little. Yeah, Chiisai was definitely his first choice. Something about the petite executive with a penchant for cuteness drew him. Possibly, it was the niggling suspicion that she liked him a lot more than she let on, and he was honest enough with himself to admit that he was smitten with her, and had been pretty much since day one.

"What's so funny?" Okita asked, his beer halfway to his mouth, bag of ice against the side of his head.

"None of your fuckin' business," Saitou snarled.

So maybe Okita had a point—but Saitou wasn't going to say so out loud.

And he _definitely_ wasn't going to tell the prick about Tokio.

There weren't any legal repercussions for killing people that only existed in your head, but real people were a different story.


	14. Sittin' in a Tree

**Title:** Sittin' in a Tree

**S****ummary:** Kinda-sorta-pseudo companion to #13, "Dr. Love." Kamatari regresses; Tokio stresses.

**Word Count:** 622

**A/N:** This one is quite silly. Then again, anything with Kamatari has a tendency of getting silly.

* * *

Telling him _anything_ had been _such_ a mistake, she decided. 

"So what's he like?" Kamatari prodded—figuratively and literally; he used the eraser of his pencil to poke her hip.

"What do you care?" Tokio asked, trying desperately to ignore her friend and coworker.

She didn't miss Kamatari's Cheshire cat grin.

"_Kit-ten_," he singsonged.

"_Work_, Kamatari," Tokio said from behind gritted teeth; he was still poking her with the eraser.

"_Awww_! Come on! Don't be so _mean_—_tell me_!" the man next to her whined (_Still_. _Poking_. _Her_). "_I'd_ tell _you_!"

"Of course you would, you're an incurable gossip and chatterbox!" Tokio snapped. "Now go back to sketching the exhibit setup, Akira-kun wants it ready for the meeting with the Board tomorrow."

"Why won't you tell me?" Kamatari asked huffily, blatantly ignoring her command. "Is he deformed or something?"

"No he is not deformed!" Tokio snapped, flushing; she didn't know for a fact if Saitou was deformed or not, but as far she could tell he wasn't, so she was going with no.

A big, loud, resounding no.

"_Tou-chy_," Kamatari sniffed. "So what's he like?"

Tokio made a sound of frustration in the back of her throat that made Saitou grin in sadistic glee every time he heard it.

"Would you finish the damn sketch already?!" she bellowed.

Kamatari eyed her in a mixture of distain and affront, then suddenly sent her another Cheshire cat grin.

"Kitten an' her _boyfriend_, sittin' in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g—"

"Kamatari!" she snapped.

"First comes love, then comes marriage—"

"What are you, four?!"

"Then comes the baby in the baby carriage!"

Tokio abruptly grabbed the pencil he'd been holding (and using to keep time against her hip with, _twitch_, _twitch_) and snapped it in half.

"Are you _quite_ done?" she growled.

Kamatari stared at her in horror.

"That was my favorite pencil!" he yelped after a moment.

"How unfortunate for you," Tokio replied coolly, setting the dead writing implement down on the desk in front of her friend. In the back of her mind, she vaguely realized that she sounded an awful lot like a certain snarky policeman she knew—hell, she sounded even _better_ than he did—and she smirked faintly to herself at that thought.

"Tokio!" Kamatari wailed, picking up the pieces of his beloved pencil. "How could you?!"

"It's _really_ easy, actually," she said dryly. "See, first you grab the pencil, like so, and then you apply pressure at both ends, like so, and then you snap the crap out of your annoying friend's favorite pencil because he was being an obnoxious child." Pause. "Well, more of one than usual, anyway."

"You were never this cruel," Kamatari dramatically announced, sniffing and clutching his pencil(s) to his chest. "If this is _that man_'s influence, I can't say as I care for him the least little bit!"

Tokio rolled her eyes.

"Oh would you stop?" she irritably asked. "Come on, just finish the sketch—"

"You broke my pencil!"

"Well it still works! It's just shorter now…and the eraser's separated from the point—"

"I'm sorry poor baby," Kamatari cooed to his pencil(s). "She's just a terrible woman with anger issues and she decided to take them out on you."

Tokio rolled her eyes and gave up and walked away. She'd send Enishi in later to see if his presence would galvanize the effeminate man. For right now, it was better to let him mourn over his beloved writing implement.

"My friends are so not normal," she muttered, pushing her glasses up to perch on the top of her head.

She thought again about the head-case she'd see in about half an hour and smiled faintly.

"And apparently, neither is my taste in men…."


	15. Banzai!

**Title:** Banzai!

**S****ummary:** He wasn't sentimental, but there were some things you just kept and admired.

**Word Count:** 622

* * *

It didn't really seem like a big deal, the day his promotion went through and he went from lieutenant to captain, with the appropriate increase in pay…and paperwork, naturally. The fact was, he hadn't even told his family yet—hell, _Okita_ hadn't even known until that morning when he'd seen Saitou, and Okita had an annoying habit of knowing _everything_.

So when he walked into the luncheonette and found Tokio there early (for a change), it didn't occur to him to mention it to her.

As it turned out, he wouldn't have needed to—she took one look at his uniform, immediately noticed the new insignia, and her face lit up.

"You were promoted!" she said, and he was startled that she not only could tell the difference, but that she was happy for him too.

"Uh, yeah," he said awkwardly.

"When?"

"Promotion went through yesterday," he replied, and Tokio's smile widened.

"Congratulations!"

"…Thanks…I guess."

His lack of enthusiasm in no way deflated hers; she insisted on paying for his meal for him, and they had a small argument over it until Shiori sighed and told him to just let Tokio pay for him, she was trying to be nice, damn it, and besides, Shiori wouldn't have taken any money from him anyway.

So he sighed and gave in, and Tokio beamed up at him and he decided that sometimes it was okay to let a woman pay for him.

He thought that was the end of it, but when she came in (late as usual) the next day, she immediately presented him with a card.

"It's a little late, but since you never mentioned you were going to be promoted…." She shrugged, then grinned up at him.

He had a moment where he was torn between embarrassment and pleasure. In the end, he settled on pleasure, but decided against picking her up and kissing the hell out of her.

Probably wouldn't go over too well.

"Thanks Tokio," he said, inclining his head.

"Read it," she urged, and she surprised him again, because as long as they'd been talking to each other and cultivating a friendship based on chopsticks and soba and an annoying nickname, he hadn't been expecting her to write very much in the card.

She took up almost the entirety of the inside.

Half of it was her asking him to stop calling her Chiisai, and to stop being so obnoxious all the time, because he was a captain now and since he'd moved on up the totem pole it was unseemly. The other half was sincere congratulations and her firm belief that he deserved the promotion and she was very happy for him.

The idea of kissing the hell out of her came back with a vengeance, and he was barely able to once again convince himself that it probably wasn't a good idea to spring that kind of thing on her like that.

He looked up at her (she was blushing, but looking pleased) and grinned.

"Thanks Chiisai," he said sincerely.

She wilted a little and sighed.

"You're never going to stop calling me that, are you?" she asked resignedly.

"Nope," he assured, tucking the card into his coat pocket carefully.

If he worked anywhere else, he'd have probably displayed the card on his desk. But since he shared an office with, among others, Okita, that wasn't an option. So instead, when he got home that evening, he set the card up on the bureau in his bedroom, propped up against the books his senpai had given him.

He wasn't sentimental or anything—far from it—but there were some things you just kept and admired, and a card from his Chiisai was one of those things.


	16. Stumped

**Title:** Stumped

**Summary:** Companion to # 10, "The Pervert Voice." Tokio doesn't know whether to be flattered or horrified, and Saitou isn't helping matters.

**Word Count:** 316

* * *

She honestly doesn't understand it.

At first, she thought it must be a guy thing and that's why she didn't get it, but when she asked her brother, Akira-kun and Enishi respectively a few very carefully worded, totally-hypothetical-of-course questions on the subject, they couldn't help her. In fact, they all just sent her odd looks and asked her why she was asking, and she decided she 1) _really_ needed to improve her totally-hypothetical-of-course questioning and 2) figure out this little mystery for herself.

She thought once about asking him to explain his strange, embarrassing (for her, naturally) need to quasi-sexually harass her. A second after the thought occurred to her, she whacked her forehead and decided she was a fool—asking that question would only lead to worse things, and she was awkward enough with what he said now. She didn't need to invite anymore.

There's a little part of her, though (_very_ tiny—_miniscule_, actually—more like _minute_, really), that maybe sort of kind of might possibly perhaps secretly enjoy the attention. Because occasionally, and especially when he waxes (perverted) poetic about her legs, her blush is half mortification and half pleasure, because he mentions little details that might maybe possibly perhaps mean that he's secretly kind of sort of been paying attention to her, which is both utterly terrifying and completely gratifying.

She'd like to believe he's serious, but the fact that he uses that awful, horrible (strangely sexy—_AHEM!_) voice makes her doubt that he is. Saitou is hard to read, and she can never tell what's the truth and what's not with him. She gets the feeling he isn't being entirely honest with her, but she doesn't understand why she feels that way.

Then again, she thinks, her cheeks heating as he says something wildly inappropriate in that equally wildly inappropriate voice, perhaps she's better off staying in the dark on this one.


	17. Father Knows Best

**Title:** Father Knows Best

**W****ord Count:** 752

**Summary:** Crazy like a fox.

**A/N:** Happy Daddy Day! In honor of the day, I introduce you all to a character who has yet to appear in _Captain Mis_, but whom I hope to include very soon. Enjoy!

* * *

Saitou Yuusuke wasn't as cracked as his youngest son thought he was.

Sure, he was a little goofy, but that goofiness was what had won Masu over, and Yuusuke wasn't about to knock something that had helped him land the best thing that had ever happened to him (besides, traditional courtship was rather boring, in his opinion—flowers and candy and dinner could only be so novel for so long).

Actually, he was quite sharp—it was amazing what acting a little distracted and not-all-there could get you. He acquired a wealth of information that he knew would have been impossible to get if he let the people around him know just how aware he actually was.

For example, he knew that his youngest son had dabbled in something dangerous when he'd been away from their fold. Because when his boy came back, Hajime wasn't quite the same. He'd always been a strange boy, quieter and a little chillier than his peers or the others in the family—but when he came back to them, the boy had ice in his veins. Yuusuke knew because he'd had ice in his veins once. He'd once worked for the government, and the Cold War era had been a strange and dangerous time. All manner of espionage and dastardliness had gone on, and he'd been in the thick of it for a long time. It was there he'd learned to cultivate the façade of cheerful, oblivious idiot that had (and still) fooled everyone, including his sweet, wonderful wife and her honorable and equally wonderful father.

But being back with the family and seeing them again thawed and melted most of that ice away. Not all of it, though. And Yuusuke knew the only cure for that was the same cure he'd taken: Hajime needed to find a sweet, wonderful girl and get married and have a bunch of kids.

Yaso had been a sweet, wonderful girl, but not for Hajime. She didn't fit the boy exactly right, didn't know how to deal with his oddness. Yuusuke had liked her fine—just not for his son.

And since he knew Hajime was a stubborn idiot, Yuusuke didn't say "Told you so," when the boy informed them that he'd gotten divorced. Instead, he tackled the boy to the ground and started one of their father-son "bonding" brawls that had taught Hajime how to be the unholy terror he was.

He waited a year before he decided to approach his son with the cure for the iciness that lingered in him. And because Hajime was Hajime and a prickly, private bastard, he went about it the best way he knew how—he acted like he didn't have any sense.

"You know what you need? A nice girl," he told the boy one weekend when his son had come to visit.

"The last nice girl I brought home didn't meet your standards, old man," Hajime growled irritably around his cigarette.

"Well you should have asked what they were before you brought her," he replied mildly. "Then we could have avoided all that."

"Feh."

"Don't 'feh' your father," he chided. "You're supposed to treat me with respect and reverence."

"Humoring lunatics is the proper response," Hajime shot back dryly. "Respect and reverence might encourage them."

"Any lunatic worth his straight jacket doesn't need encouragement," was Yuusuke's snooty reply.

Hajime groaned.

"_Why_ do I talk to you?" he asked with a sigh.

"Because I'm your most venerable father and you're an ungrateful boy!" Yuusuke bellowed. "I try to impart my years of wisdom to you and you ignore it! You'll wish you'd paid attention when—"

"I'm gonna go see if Mom wants me to set the table," Hajime muttered, rising.

"Hajime! Listen to your father's wisdom!"

"Yeah yeah yeah," Hajime said, waving a hand over his shoulder in a dismissing gesture. "Whatever, old man."

Yuusuke wasn't at all offended. He only grinned and settled himself back down in his chair, smug with satisfaction.

Because eventually, his boy was going to replay the conversation in his head, and Yuusuke had already planted the seed. Now he just had to wait, and one day, if his son was as smart as Yuusuke knew he was, Hajime would do exactly as his father had prescribed and find himself a sweet, wonderful girl that could deal with his oddness.

And if Yuusuke had done his job as flawlessly as he knew he had, Hajime would think he'd thought it up all on his own.


	18. Types

**Title:** Types

**Word Count:** 993

**Summary:** Saitou isn't Tokio's type. No, really.

**A/N:** _**ALL THE SMALL THINGS**_** HAS BEEN NOMINATED IN THE DRABBLES CATEGORY OF THE RKRC, AND I'VE BEEN NOMINATED FOR AUTHOR OF THE YEAR!**

Voting looks like it won't be starting until mid-October, but I'll try to keep you posted on exact dates (hint: LJ is a marvelous thing). Once it does, though, if anyone wants to vote for _Small Things_ or me (or _Captain Miserable_, for that matter, which is in the running for Alternate Reality and Romance/WAFF), you can mosey on over to www(dot)meijitales(dot)com and click on "RKRC," and directions should follow.

Profuse thanks to those who nominated and seconded _Small Things_—I'm flattered you all thought so much of it!

* * *

She'd have been lying if she'd said she hadn't thought about it before.

But Shiori didn't need to know that.

"I don't think so," Tokio said managing to sound as confident as she didn't feel.

"Why not?" Shiori asked in a reasonable tone, leaning against the counter as if she had all the time in the world.

"He's not my type."

Shiori looked amused by that:

"Oh? And why is that?"

"I don't do wolves."

Shiori laughed.

"That right? I bet he'd love to _do_ you," she teased, and Tokio flushed.

"Shiori-san!" she snapped, voice pitched a little higher than usual. "What in the world's gotten into you?! You sound like that degenerate!"

"Oh come on Tokio-san," Shiori cajoled, laughing. "I mean, okay, fine, he's not exactly the sweetest man that ever walked the planet, but he's not such a bad guy, either."

"For a snarky jerk?" Tokio asked dryly, and Shiori rolled her eyes.

"He's a little rough around the edges—" she began.

"And rude," Tokio interjected.

"And maybe he's not everyone's cup of tea—"

"_Really_?" Tokio drawled archly; Shiori ignored her:

"But he's a good guy. I know people, trust me."

"Are you trying to sell him to me?" Tokio asked, raising an eyebrow. "Is he a man or a car?"

"Is who a man or a car?" the very person under discussion inquired, and Tokio almost jumped a foot into the air.

"We were just talking about you," Shiori cheerfully informed him, and Tokio sent the older woman a venomous look before sighing and turning to face Saitou and his gleeful taunting.

Instead, he looked rather…wary?

"Talking about me?" he asked cautiously.

"Uh-huh," Shiori said.

"…About whether I was a man or a car?"

Shiori sent him a flat look while Tokio laid her head down on the counter and laughed silently into the lacquered wood, shoulders shaking.

"I don't know why I bother trying to help you," Shiori muttered before moving off to let Kuno know that Saitou had arrived.

"What was that all about?" he asked, looking down at Tokio, who had lifted her head up but was still grinning in amusement.

"Don't worry about it," she said with a careless wave, "it wasn't anything important."

He raised an eyebrow, expression dubious.

"If you two were talking about me, I doubt it wasn't anything important."

"If it makes you feel any better, Shiori-san had nothing but good things to say about you," she offered, and he eyed her.

"What about you?" he asked, and she grinned up at him as sweetly as she could.

"Like I said, Shiori-san had nothing but good things to say about you."

He sighed.

"You really know how to get a man where it hurts, Chiisai."

She sent him a nasty look:

"Thank you," she said tightly, "I do try my best."

"So I've noticed," he replied dryly. Pause. Then: "So really, though—what the hell were you guys saying about me?"

Tokio smirked.

"Feeling a little insecure, Captain?" she asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Are you _kidding_? Of course I am—I had _two women_ talking about me," he said with a snort. "Nine times outta ten that means my character's being assassinated."

"Oh I wouldn't worry," she assured. "You do that just fine all by yourself."

Saitou winced, gloved hand over his chest.

"Damn woman," he said. "You got right for the heart, don't you?"

"Quickest way to a man's heart is through his ribs," she replied.

"Killer instinct all right," he said, amused. "Maybe I should start calling you 'Hitokiri.'"

"It'd be an improvement," she said.

"Not as much fun as 'Chiisai,' though," he continued, malicious glee twinkling in his eyes as he smirked down at her.

She sent him a flat look.

"Jerk," she muttered.

He winked at her and made her blush, and she saw his smirk widen. Before he could tease her into turning a darker shade of pink, however, Shiori arrived with their food, and Tokio quietly sighed in relief and thanked the gods for their timely interference.

Because once he got her blushing, it was all downhill from there.

"Oi, Saitou-san," Shiori asked, "what's your type?"

"Type?" he repeated, baffled.

"Yeah. Women, I mean," Shiori qualified, and Tokio sent her a warning look; the older woman blatantly ignored it.

"I don't know," Saitou said with a shrug.

"Of course you do," Shiori replied with a roll of her eyes. "What makes you notice a woman?"

Saitou shrugged.

"Lots of things," he said. "Anything."

"Like?" Shiori prodded.

"I like tall women," he said finally, sounding very put upon.

"Anything else?"

"Sense of humor's always nice," Saitou said dryly. "Shiori-san, are you not so subtly trying to tell me that you're dying of love for me?"

Shiori sputtered, shocked, and Tokio laughed into her fist.

_Serves you right_, she thought gleefully.

The older woman left them alone after that, and Saitou looked over at her.

"What in the hell was that all about?"

Tokio shrugged.

"Must be bored," she replied, and Saitou snorted.

"Saitou-san?" she asked after a moment.

"Hn?"

"How tall?"

He grinned suddenly and leaned over her in that distressing way that always flustered her.

"Interested?"

"You wish," she bit out, face flaming, and he chuckled.

"Five-feet-even's a pretty good height," he said idly. "See, tall women can't always wear heels, or they'll look taller than the man. Looks funny. But a smaller woman, that's different. And women do look so very good in their heels, Chiisai."

"But you said you liked tall women," she pointed out.

He nodded.

"Yeah…but small women have a certain appeal. 'Specially when they're little and scrappy."

"You sound like you have someone specific in mind," she said, intrigued.

He smiled mysteriously.

"I do," he said simply, and then changed the subject.

She wondered, though, who the woman was.

And why it gave her such an odd pang.

After all, she'd said it herself—he wasn't her type.

…Right?


	19. The Complete Idiot's Guide to The Moment

**Title:** The Complete Idiot's Guide to "The Moment"

**Word Count:** 880

**Summary:** It's not getting in touch with your feminine side so much as gathering Intel on the enemy.

**A/N:** …I have no idea where this came from.

* * *

Contrary to popular (Okita's, rather) belief, Saitou was actually pretty knowledgeable about women, and he owed this entirely to his older sister and her friends…however much it pained him to admit that.

So he knew exactly what Tokio was talking about one afternoon when he arrived a tad late to find her and Shiori discussing what they called "The Moment."

"The Moment" was, in Saitou's opinion, melodramatic bullshit, but women liked it, so he'd used it to his advantage several times, always with fantastic results for his trouble. He refused to tell Okita about it because 1) Saitou would happily submit to being slit open and filled with hot coals before admitting that he knew this kind of information, and 2) he liked it when Okita suffered. It was good for his friend's soul and moral character…and more importantly, it amused Saitou _immensely_.

But that was getting off topic.

"…very important," Shiori was saying when he made it to the counter.

"What is?" he asked. "Yo," he added, rolling his eyes, when Shiori shot him her patented "I-know-you're-not-as-rude-as-you-act" look.

"'The Moment'," Tokio replied. "You're late, by the way."

"These things happen in life," he said, shrugging, then grinned at her, eyes gleaming. "Why, Chiisai—did you _miss me_?"

She sent him a flat look, and his grin widened.

"I'm _so_ sorry to have kept you waiting," he continued.

"Oh be quiet," she ordered irritably. "I only said anything because you're always talking about me being late."

"Hn, yes, well, you deserve it," he replied, sending her a smug smirk.

She made a face at him, and he grinned and looked back over at Shiori, to find her watching them with equal parts amusement and exasperation.

"So what about this 'The Moment'?" he asked, leaning an elbow against the counter.

The two women exchanged a look he couldn't quite decipher—the closest equivalent he could come up with was the eloquently succinct but extremely vulgar "What-the-fuck?"

"Why do you want to know?" Tokio asked suspiciously.

He shrugged again, rather enjoying himself; oh, he did so _love_ to toy with her….

"I dunno, I got nothing better to talk about," he replied casually. "So what is it?"

Both women rolled their eyes at him, and he resisted the urge to laugh—this was going to be fun, he could tell.

"Of course he wouldn't know," Tokio muttered sourly, and he raised an eyebrow, intrigued—did he detect a little disappointment from his favorite little executive?

"Most men don't," Shiori said in a consoling, long-suffering tone. "Kuno doesn't, that's for sure," she muttered in the same sour voice Tokio used, and Saitou's eyebrow climbed higher.

Yup. That was disappointment all right.

"So tell me," he said, and knew he'd annoyed both women by the flat looks they shot him. "Geez, all right, don't tell me," he said, holding up both hands with a grimace. "I don't want to know bad enough."

Shiori rolled her eyes and moved away to let Kuno know Saitou had arrived, leaving her companions to their own devices. Tokio sighed and rested her chin on her fist and eyed him thoughtfully. He raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Why'd you wanna know?"

"No reason."

"Pull the other one, Saitou-san."

He grinned.

"Is that an invitation?" he inquired in the pervert voice, and she flushed.

"It most certainly is _not_," she said frostily.

He chuckled and held up a hand in surrender.

"Easy Chiisai, I'm kidding."

"Why'd you ask?"

"Honestly? I'm spying on you females," he said, smirking. "Trying to get you to tell me all your secrets."

"Well then you're a terrible spy," she informed him archly, making him chuckle again.

She eyed him, then sighed again.

"You're not going to tell me why you want to know, are you?"

"Nope."

"Evil man."

"I do try."

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, and he sent her an honest smile, because she really did look so damn cute when she was frustrated (and he hadn't just thought that). It took a little while, but eventually she returned his smile and they stayed that way for several beats.

Until Shiori came back with Tokio's food and the bag containing his and ruined it.

Saitou, when he was sure Tokio wasn't looking, sent Shiori a nasty look that told her just how much he resented the intrusion; she ignored it.

"Saitou-san?" Tokio asked, once Shiori had moved away to attend to other customers.

"Yeah?"

"You know, just now, before Shiori-san came…?"

He perked up, interested.

"Yeah?"

She smiled at him in a way that made him want to smile back—or pick her up and kiss her.

"That's what 'The Moment' is."

It took him a second, but he realized what she meant.

"That was it, huh?"

She nodded, still smiling. He smiled back.

"That right?"

She nodded again.

"You wanna know why I wanted to know?"

She tilted her head, one curious eyebrow raised.

"Seemed like something I should know. Just in case."

"So I'm training you?" she asked, amused.

"I wouldn't take lessons from anyone else," he replied, grinning when she flushed.

So it wasn't entirely honest. But she was charmed and he knew it and that was the most important thing.

All's fair, baby. All's fair.


	20. The Wolf of Bunkyo Ward

**Title:** The Wolf of Bunkyo Ward

**Summary:** "Tokio, are you aware of the danger in taunting wild animals?"

**Word Count:** 619

* * *

She found out by accident that Saitou was called "The Wolf of Bunkyo Ward," and when she heard it she laughed because it was so very appropriate.

There was something feral about the man, to be sure. He moved like a prowling animal, always alert and ready. His eyes never stopped moving, and sometimes Tokio imagined that if it had been possible, his ears would have moved to better listen in on what was happening around them, just like a real wolf's might.

But she was sure he wouldn't have been called a wolf if he didn't look like one, and Saitou was as wolf-like as a normal (relatively speaking, you understand) human being could get. He had those odd, amber eyes, to start, so strangely like that yellow-brown most wolves had. And there was a leanness to his build that made her think of a hungry wolf intent on bringing down game. His face was long and thin and rather reminded her of his animal namesake. And when the man smirked…Saitou's sense of humor was quirky, true, but there was also an element of danger to it, and no one was guaranteed to come out unscathed when he teased the Wolf.

So she wholeheartedly approved of his nickname, and told him so:

"Where'd you hear that?" he asked, sounding surprised.

"Shiori-san," Tokio replied, smiling.

"I really hate it when you two talk about me," he said with a sigh.

"But you're so interesting, Wolf-san," Tokio teased.

He sent her a dry look.

"Really?" he deadpanned. "Tokio, are you aware of the danger in taunting wild animals?"

"Am I going to be bitten?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"My oh my—I had no idea you were into the kinky stuff, Tokio," he replied, and smirked when she blushed bright red.

"You are a degenerate," she informed him, and he laughed low in the back of his throat.

"You asked for it," he pointed out.

"I most certainly did not!"

"Sure you did," he threw back carelessly, leaning against the counter and tipping his hat back on his head. "You taunted the Wolf, my dear. I didn't get that nickname by being cuddly."

"Cuddly is the last thing you are," she murmured.

"I wouldn't go that far," he said mildly, and she shot him a withering look.

"Not another word, you," she growled.

"You know, that wasn't half bad," he observed. "Mine's better, though—Wolf, you know." he added, gesturing to himself.

Apparently just in case she had forgotten who exactly was called "the Wolf of Bunkyo Ward."

"Insufferable," she muttered, rolling her eyes.

"I'm serious, though, about the cuddly thing," he said.

"I'm sure," she said dryly.

"No, really. I could be cuddly."

"As a pit viper."

"Pit vipers aren't cuddly."

"Exactly."

"Now that was uncalled for."

"Consider it pay back for that inappropriate and also uncalled for remark you made."

He laughed and leaned against the counter.

"Come on Chiisai," he said. "Have a sense of humor, huh?"

"I do have a sense of humor," she snapped. "It just isn't morally bankrupt."

"Wolf," he replied, amused.

"Not a real one," she pointed out.

"As close to one in human form as you're going to get, Chiisai," he crooned in that voice that made her blush.

And she knew that he hadn't gotten the nickname for his ability to make her stomach flop over on itself. But she thought it was just as dangerous as anything he did in his official capacity as an officer of the MPD.

Maybe more—she was fairly sure that any criminal he brought in was in less danger of turning into an embarrassed, delighted puddle at the man's feet than she was.


	21. Ten

**Title:** Ten

**Summary:** 10 small things about Chiisai that make the Wolf happy.

**Word Count:** 477

**A/N:** I was in an experimental mood when I came up with this one, possibly brought on by the fact that I've been reading a few "20/30/50 theme" fics lately.

* * *

1. He always notices when she's wearing a new suit, a new pair of heels or new jewelry, although he doesn't always comment on it. Some people might call this obsessive.

Saitou would tell these "some people" to kiss his ass.

2. He likes that she doesn't wear perfume, because he has yet to find one he can tolerate, and he'd hate to associate overpowering and nausea-inducing odors with his Chiisai.

3. And yes, she is _his_ Chiisai. It surprised him, the first time he thought of her that way, but it had come so naturally that he'd decided to just accept it, and he hasn't thought about it since.

4. She is arguably the most cheerful person he knows, and he admires that even as he wonders how, exactly, she is able to be that way. Then again, she hasn't seen the shit he has.

5. He is so very, _fervently_ thankful that she's never seen the shit he has.

6. He doesn't think of himself as especially possessive until the day he comes in later than usual and sees her talking, not to Shiori, but to a man standing next to her. Upon shooting the man a very dark look, he has to admit that perhaps, at least when it comes to Tokio, he's a little possessive. And after effectively scaring the guy away from the luncheonette entirely, nearly everyone but the woman who caused the stir (ah, oblivious little Chiisai!) was inclined to agree.

7. She came to the luncheonette once with her hair loose around her shoulders. When he asked her about it, she said her barrette had broken and she didn't have anything but pens and pencils to pick her hair up with, which was unprofessional in the extreme, so she'd just worn her hair down.

Her decision had made that day the best day of his life.

8. Sometimes he wonders about her background, because he gets the feeling that she isn't from a middle class background like he is. It's a slight inflection in her voice, but he catches it every time and wonders just how far out of his league she is. Because she's quality, and he knows that because he can see it.

This realization in no way deters him at any point.

9. And speaking of her voice, he likes it. Actually, he loves it. It's pitched low and when she isn't mad at him for calling her Chiisai, it's soft, and he listens to it and knows for a fact that if sex were a sound it would be her voice.

10. He never meant to nickname her. "Chiisai" was supposed to be a one time thing. But it fits her so well that it sticks.

That, and it drives her crazy—he loves her but that doesn't mean she's safe from his sense of humor.


	22. Birthday Wishes

**Title:** Birthday Wishes

**Summary:** What do you get a man you might possibly-perhaps-definitely be in love with for his birthday?

**Word Count:** 911

* * *

This was ridiculous.

It shouldn't have been this hard to find a birthday card. At least, it hadn't ever been before; within moments of approaching any display of greeting cards, Tokio was able to pick out the perfect card for the recipient of the day. It was like she had a weird, ridiculously-perfect-greeting-card-radar or something, or so her brother and sister said.

_Maybe the radar's busted_, she mused, staring at the display a little harder, willing the perfect card to magically appear. It didn't happen, of course, and she rolled her eyes and snorted.

Yeah right. That would have been way too easy.

And nothing involving _him_ was ever easy.

Saitou had accidentally let it slip that his birthday was January 1st a few months back; the look of complete surprise on his face when he'd realized what he'd told her had been extremely gratifying, and more than a little endearing. And pretty much since the second she'd learned this information, she'd resolved to give him a card. She'd meant to give it to him before the New Year holiday had started up, but she hadn't been able to find a card she liked for him before then.

Okay, no big: she'd just give it to him after, once the holidays were over and everyone returned to work.

Which would have worked out fine…if she could just _find_ the damn card.

After a little more staring and glaring, Tokio sighed and gave up and left the store empty-handed and very much irritated with the greeting card industry, and Saitou. Actually, on further reflection, she was irritated with just Saitou; this was all his fault, she was sure of it.

She didn't know _how_ it was all his fault, but that didn't matter—it was his fault, and that was that.

Tokio arrived home and helped her mother with dinner, pushing the dilemma of Saitou's birthday card out of her mind, even though she didn't really have the luxury—she'd see him tomorrow.

She didn't fall asleep until two hours before she was supposed to get up, too anxious about the card to sleep, and so she was groggier and crankier than usual.

She spent most of the morning at work distracted and irritable, before deciding, half an hour before she was supposed to go on her lunch break, that she was going to try to look for a card one more time in the store a short walk from the museum, which she'd already checked a number of times and come up empty-handed.

A huge part of the problem was that Tokio had no idea how to categorize Saitou in her mind. He wasn't quite a friend, but he wasn't _exactly_ an acquaintance either. Nor was he a boyfriend (…_sigh_…)—he was just _Saitou_, and unfortunately, they didn't make cards specifically _for_ Saitou.

She eventually gave up and bought a simple card without much fuss, tasteful without being bland, and most importantly, entirely blank inside. She then hurried back to the museum and quickly—but neatly—filled it out, using all available space, and then ran to the luncheonette, to find him lounging at the counter in his uniform, obviously waiting for her. When he saw her, he smirked.

"Fifteen minutes late, Chiisai," he cheerfully informed her.

"Oh quiet, you," she grumbled, making her way to the counter and setting her purse down on it, along with the card, safely tucked away in its envelope. She noticed him eye the envelope curiously, but he didn't ask about it.

He allowed her to order her lunch in peace before he politely said,

"Happy New Year."

She grinned up at him, delighted when he genuinely smiled back.

"Happy New Year," she replied, then slid the envelope over to him. "And Happy Birthday."

The look on his face was priceless:

"What?" he asked, surprised and clearly caught off guard.

"Happy Birthday," she repeated. "You told me your birthday was January 1st, remember?"

"You _remembered_?" he asked, stunned.

"Was I not supposed to?" she replied mischievously.

He eyed the envelope, then her, then the envelope again, and she laughed.

"Just open it," she said, pretending a nonchalance she didn't feel.

_Oh gods, please let him like it…!_ she prayed desperately as he carefully opened it.

He was very very quiet as he pulled out the card and opened it and read it. When he had, he looked up at her, expression unreadable, and Tokio flushed bright red under his gaze.

_He doesn't like it_, she thought, mentally wilting. _He doesn't like it, he would have said something by now, he hates the card, it's awful and impersonal and—_

"Thank you," he said quietly, not looking at her as he carefully replaced the card in the envelope and slid it into his coat pocket.

"Thank you?" she parroted, blinking.

He nodded, an odd sort of expression on his face that took her several moments to place: he was happy. That realization, when it came, had her so overjoyed she could hardly control the urge to jump up and down in celebration.

Somehow she did.

"You're welcome," she replied, smiling shyly, blushing again, and he sent her a smile that made her heart flip over in her chest.

Then he ruined The Moment by leering at her and asking, in _that voice_,

"So when's _your_ birthday Chiisai?"

Tokio sighed wearily, flushing, but decided it was okay, just this once.

_For the Birthday Boy's sake_, she added wryly.


	23. What Time Is It?

**Title:** What Time Is It?

**Summary:** Because even Saitou can't be infallible all the time.

**Word Count:** 288

* * *

He makes the mistake one day of saying "Time for Chiisai" instead of "Time for lunch."

Naturally, this gets him some weird looks from his coworkers.

"Time for _what_?" Okita asks, baffled.

_Fuck_, Saitou thinks.

"Nothing," he replies. "I meant lunch."

"Dude, 'lunch' sounds _nothing_ like 'chiisai'," Okita says. "Not even old guys with hearing aids could confuse those two."

"They are pretty odd words to confuse," Kenshin agrees.

_Oh just what I need_, is Saitou's sour thought at this turn of events.

"I didn't confuse them, halfwits," he testily returns. "I just said the wrong word."

"Because you confused them."

"No."

"Then?"

"Then what?"

"Then why'd you say chiisai instead of lunch? And by the way, that makes no friggin' sense at all."

"I was thinking of something—" (**S**_**omeone**_) "—else."

"Something chiisai," Shinomori pipes up.

_Great, now __**all**__ the idiots are in_, Saitou wearily thinks.

"Yeah, sure," he says dismissively, rising.

"What?"

"What what?"

"What's chiisai?"

_Actually, it's __**who**__—not that that matters, since I have no intention of telling you_, Saitou says to himself. _The hell I will—I'll give up smoking first_.

"Nothing."

"Then what the hell—"

"Okita, go to lunch before I kill you," he snaps, and Okita pouts at him.

"You're no fun," he mutters.

"Tough shit—get lost." Saitou orders, picking up his hat and jamming it down onto his head before leaving the cramped little office they share.

"Gods above," he mumbles. "Like working with an office full of gossipy women."

He makes a mental note to never announce what it's time for ever again—the aggravation of a second slip-up will probably result in a murder (Okita's), and that's more paperwork than he cares to deal with.


	24. Objects of My Affections, 2

**Title:** Objects of My Affections, 2

**Word Count:** 382

**Summary:** There's something about Saitou.

* * *

She wondered when this…er, fetish?...had begun.

Because in all the time since she'd discovered that boys did not, in fact, have cooties, she could not remember having this particular fixation until the day she'd seen one Saitou Hajime, cranky police officer extraordinaire, wearing them.

Or more accurately, she'd never really looked at other men in them before, except in a general cursory way…which promptly changed the day she saw him wearing them in the luncheonette.

He was _yum_ in his uniform (another odd fixation that she hadn't become aware of until meeting him), and she enjoyed looking at him on those days he was wearing it. That, she supposed, came from the famed allure of a man in uniform.

But those _jeans_….

She never got tired of seeing him in jeans. He looked so incredibly good in them, which was ridiculous, really, because hundreds of other, much more handsome men wore the same thing and she didn't spare them more than a glance, if that.

He didn't really do anything different from any other man. Or maybe he did—she wasn't really sure, not having really paid much attention to men in jeans before meeting him. Either way, she knew for sure that whatever he did, it had her feeling giddy when she saw him in them, her heart flipping over in her chest and her stomach getting all fluttery and nervous and altogether feeling like she was in high school again, crushing on a completely unreachable (but totally _hot_) upperclassman.

She thought it might be that he seemed dangerous, even when he was leaning casually against the counter, teasing and embarrassing and smirking at her. He moved like a big cat, self-assured and able, and there was something very appealing about that. And jeans heightened that perception, maybe.

Or maybe it was something a lot simpler, a lot more physical, a lot more base and elemental.

Tokio eyed Saitou's backside surreptitiously through her lashes as she approached the counter; he had his back to the door, and was leaning against the counter, talking to Shiori. And since he had his back to the door…there was nothing to hide the lanky officer's…ahem…_ass_ets…from view.

…well…if he could admire her legs, she supposed it was only fair she got to admire something on him.


	25. The Black and the Blue

**Title:** The Black and the Blue

**Summary:** Mindless drudgery makes for grand epiphanies.

**Word Count:** 454

**A/N:** Surprise! Bet you guys weren't expecting an update here any time soon, huh? …neither was I. (_sweatdrops_) Heh heh. Anyway. I've been holding onto this one for a while, and finally decided to post it because I don't feel like waiting to do a bigger dump. So it's just the one this time.

Also, to those of you who have very patiently been waiting for me to reply to your reviews…I'm _so_ sorry. I suck. Pretty much everything but school has been shoved aside for the time being. I don't mean to ignore you guys, but…well…school sort of beats this, as much as I would love for the opposite to be true. So to everyone who reviewed last time, whether for _Captain Mis_ or _Small Things_, thank you so much, I appreciate the love for my babies. You guys are awesome and I'm lucky to have such devoted fans.

And now, on with the show.

* * *

It took him a while, but one day Saitou noticed something that amazed him: when he wore his black winter uniform, Tokio's suits were predominantly black, and when he wore his blue spring uniform, her suits were predominantly blue. 

He made this discovery while he was doing paperwork, because paperwork paled in comparison to the Rubik's cube that was his Chiisai, and besides that, he could fill out forms without thinking about them, because they were easy enough that an idiot could fill them out, no problem (Exhibit A: Himura and Okita). It was just boring, not hard, tedious because everything had to be filed in triplicate, which Saitou for the life of him would never be able to understand.

Honestly—who really _needed_ one report on jaywalking in triplicate?

But that was getting away from his amazing epiphany.

Saitou sat back in his chair, paperwork forgotten, and examined this discovery, wondering what it meant and if she was aware of it. He doubted it was intentional, but you could never really tell with women—even when they outright told you. Saitou was smart enough to know that most women spoke in subtleties, and just because they said something was a certain way didn't necessarily mean it was to be taken at face value.

That mistaken assumption had led to the downfall of many a good man.

Still, he wondered at the wisdom of saying anything to her about it, because there was always the (_slim-miniscule-nonexistent_) chance that she wasn't actually aware of this tendency, and that his pointing it out would prompt her to stop. Sure, he'd probably embarrass the hell out of her, but that was a fleeting pleasure, in the end—she'd still, when all was said and done, stop matching him color for season.

And it was sort of weird (okay, it was a lot weird), but Saitou wasn't exactly your average Joe Blow on the street, either. He had some "issues," for lack of a better word, that put other people's issues down for the count. He'd always been a little off-center, and weird shit had always had a certain appeal for him, had always piqued his curiosity.

This definitely fell into the "weird-shit-that-got-his-attention" category.

So he decided to just sit on it and observe and enjoy. He had no idea what, if anything, Tokio's suits matching his uniforms meant, but he didn't think it was a bad thing. It was even sort of cute, in a completely skewed kind of way.

Then again, only a guy who thought threatening his best friend with swift and brutal death, in complete and utter seriousness, could have found something that smacked even faintly of stalking, endearing.

Saitou was special like that.


	26. The Far Right Side

**Title:** The Far Right Side of the Bell Curve

**Summary:** Pseudo-related to #19, "The Complete Idiot's Guide to 'The Moment'." His smirk grows, and Tokio thinks it was probably a bad idea to share knowledge on "The Moment" with him—the man's got one hell of a learning curve.

**Word Count:** 424

**A/N:** Er…I have nothing to declare but my genius?

* * *

It's an impulse on her part that makes her turn to him and say,

"Hold up your hand."

He raises an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Hold up your hand," she repeats.

"Why?"

"I want to see something."

"On my hand?"

She rolls her eyes.

"Saitou-san, just do it, please."

_And stop being a jerk face_, is the implied end of that statement.

He shrugs and complies, to her pleasure, and she fits her hand against his, much to his obvious surprise.

She enjoys the expression he can't hide, but more than that, she enjoys her palm pressed against his. His glove prevents skin-to-skin contact, but she thinks it's better that way—it's a heady feeling, the warm cloth against her hand.

She'd probably do or say something dumb that she'd never ever live down (and frankly he has enough of those on her already—she doesn't need to be giving him more).

"What are you looking for, exactly?" he asks finally.

"I was just wondering how big your hand was compared to mine," she says, which is true—he's a very large man, and she's unusually petite, and she's always wondered how they compared, size wise.

It's hard to get an accurate picture of the difference when you're at least a full head smaller than your comparison.

"So what's the verdict?" he drawls.

"You could probably crush my hand if you wanted to," she announces, eyeing the considerable span of white cloth between her fingertips and his.

"Hn," is all he has to contribute.

And then suddenly he threads his fingers between hers and pulls her hand closer for his inspection, and she swallows dryly, terrified he'll notice the calluses on her hands from studying karate all these years and nervous over where this is going.

He eyes her hand for a beat, then adjusts his hold on it, in such a way that for one bizarre moment she thinks he's going to kiss the back of it.

He doesn't—instead, he looks up at her, and sends her that funny little smirk he wears sometimes, the one that lets her know he's happy about something.

"I wouldn't dream of crushing such a pretty little hand, Tokio," he says, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles before gently returning her hand to the countertop.

"Good to know," she says, flustered and not able to quite cover it up.

His smirk grows, and Tokio thinks it was probably a bad idea to share knowledge on "The Moment" with him—the man's got one hell of a learning curve.


	27. Patience is a Virtue

**Title:** "Patience is a Virtue" and Other Lies

**Word Count:** 984

**Summary:** The virtues of patience, Saitou decided sourly, were _severely_ overrated.

**A/N:** This one's a little angsty. And may offend those sensitive to language (this _is_ Saitou we're talking about here…). And a "violent" image or two that might make a few people wince or say "_Eeww_—gross!" But that's all. I think.

* * *

It was amazing, he fumed, how she could make him feel like such a fucking idiot without actually trying.

Like today, for example. Today he had discovered, via Shiori, that Tokio had gone out on a date the night before last.

Apparently, it had gone _swimmingly_.

How _nice_ for her.

Meanwhile, he wondered how he could go about getting the guy's full name in a not-at-all-suspicious manner so that the jack-off could have an _unfortunate accident_ and be unable to take her out…_ever again_.

This wasn't the first time this had happened. She'd mentioned this sort of crap to Shiori before, and while it had made him grind his back teeth together when he found out about it (because Shiori had an annoying talent for "accidentally" letting that sort of information slip out in front of him), he'd borne it with good grace, even if his mood was shit for the rest of the day. But he'd never gotten details, just a mention. So the fact that Shiori had provided him with more than the usual "Did-you-know-Tokio-san-had-a-date-the-other-night?" had been a very unpleasant surprise for him. One which was making it very hard for him to do what he was currently doing: stand next to Tokio while she and Shiori talked about some inane woman thing or another, while he silently stewed over how she'd told Shiori all about her _wonderful_ dinner date with Asshole (as Saitou had decided to christen her date), and how much _fun_ she'd had and all that shit that had been sadistically relayed to him just prior to Tokio's arrival.

He'd rather have a root canal without the anesthesia.

Or commit seppuku without the luxury of a second.

_Anything_ but listen "politely" to them and pretend like he didn't mind that she'd had fun on a date with some douche bag.

_Gods_, he hated Asshole right now.

There had to be a law against this, he thought, about six exits passed pissed at this point on the Highway to Hell. There _had_ to be. Because this was so fucking inhumane it wasn't even funny. He was able to handle it when the dates turned out bad (and he was pretty sure he contributed to that in some way, what with all the ill will he sent all her prospective dates' ways), because it meant she wasn't going to be seeing the retards again and they were out of the running. But Saitou wasn't altogether sure _he_ was in the running, because Tokio was so fucking infuriating and never gave him anything that might give him a clue. More than once, he'd had the awful suspicion that she saw him as nothing more than a good friend, and while that was okay (he _guessed_), it wasn't what he had in mind.

His jaw tightened painfully and his left eyelid twitched.

Were you _supposed_ to torture your good friends like this?

You know—_if you_ _weren't Saitou and Okita_ (who were special, so the usual rules didn't apply)?

"What are you sulking about?" Tokio asked curiously, and he looked over at her to find her watching him as if she had no idea she was making him seriously consider hunting Asshole down and setting him on fire.

_…'Cause she __**doesn't**__, fucktard_, he thought irritably.

"Nothing," he muttered; the knowing look on Shiori's face didn't help his shitty mood.

"Sure?" Tokio asked.

"Yeah, don't worry about it," he said. "It's…work…crap."

She smiled kindly.

"Wanna talk about it? Bet you'd feel better," she said cheerfully.

"I'm good, thanks," he replied, feeling stupid.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

She gave his arm a sympathetic pat and he felt even stupider for appreciating it as much as he did.

Gods, he was turning into a pussy.

Thankfully—or maybe not, depending on your outlook—Shiori changed the topic to something he could chime in on, and gradually the urge to kill shit (read: Asshole) left the forefront of his mind. It was still floating around back there somewhere, but it wasn't as insistent as before (though that wouldn't keep him from carefully storing away Asshole's real name for _future use_ should it slip), and he was able to loosen up a little.

He _really_ wanted a smoke, though.

Like, _bad_.

They spoke for a while longer, and then she left before him; he was off today, so he didn't have anywhere he needed to be (actually, that was a lie—he was _supposed_ to be helping his father with the A/C unit in his grandfather's bedroom that had crapped out a day ago, but he was feeling sulky and mean and he was out of cigarettes, besides; best that he have no contact with his screwy old man right now…for everyone's sakes).

He was mildly disappointed that she didn't let Asshole's name slip, but he supposed he could wait for her to go out on another date (_twitch twitch_) with him and hope Shiori was more forthcoming with information.

Because from what he'd understood, a second date was in order.

Ooo, _goodie_—he got to do this all over again.

He glared venomously at the countertop, wishing he had something to kill right the fuck now to make him feel better. Unfortunately, he was going to have to wait until he had a name, an address and a place to dump the body (the place to dump the body would be the least of his problems—there were a lot of perks to being one of the most feared men in the MPD).

Fuck. This was like being back with the department all over again, being on assignment and doing recon and gathering Intel and sitting on his ass, waiting for shit to happen. The waiting was the worst part—it was hard to feel like you were doing anything when you didn't have shit to show for it.

The virtues of patience, Saitou decided sourly, were _severely_ overrated.


	28. Not Quite an Ass

**Title:** Not Quite an Ass

**Word Count:** 710

**Summary:** In which Saitou redeems himself.

**A/N:** There's about 6 months worth of time that has passed between this one and "Patience Is a Virtue"—know what that means? It means we're slowly starting to get to the point where _Captain Miserable_ and _Small Things_ start to overlap. Only took me a year and some months….

* * *

She was very very late and in a very very foul temper when she arrived at the luncheonette, and not really in the mood to deal with Saitou today.

So of course, Fate and the gods were determined to make her that much more miserable:

"Oi, Chiisai, did you know that there's this new fangled device called a clock?" he asked when she got to the counter, the bag containing his lunch already on the counter in front of him.

Tokio's eyes narrowed—that _demented_ man had stayed to see if she'd show up so he could be obnoxious? If she hadn't already known he was insane, this would have been the nutty icing on his lunatic cake.

He took her narrowed eyes to mean "Oh really?" instead of what they clearly were: "Why don't you drop dead jack ass?"

"Yeah, it's a great invention. It tells you what time it is so you aren't late. You should really invest in one—very handy device, that."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said tautly, slamming her purse onto the counter.

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything, for which Tokio was very glad; last night had been one of the worst nights of her life, and she didn't care to relive the experience to satisfy his curiosity.

And it had started out so well: the man she'd been seeing exclusively for the last six months had invited her out to dinner, and then they'd gone back to his apartment, and then her father—apparently the most consistently successful abstinence-ensuring weapon the world had ever known—chose that particular time to call her, and when the guy had heard Kojuro's voice he'd freaked out.

Like, a lot.

It turned out the guy, a criminal defense attorney, knew exactly who Kojuro was, having seen him and met with him several times over the course of his thus far short but lucrative career, and was, like all of the men Tokio picked, absolutely terrified of him.

To the point that the man had run from his own home, screaming, into the night.

Tokio didn't need any more proof than that to know that the relationship was now over.

Again.

As usual.

Saitou needled her for a few moments more, though he never got her so annoyed that she really snapped at him, and then he took his leave with a smirk and a dry, "Remember to get that watch I told you about Chiisai."

As soon as he was gone, she turned her attention to Shiori.

"Hi Shiori-san," she said wearily.

"Tokio-san," the older woman replied, her eyes shining in a manner that was decidedly sly and would have made Tokio very suspicious, if she had given a flying damn.

"I'm in a bit of a hurry today," Tokio said. "I got held up with—whatever, it doesn't matter. I feel like—"

"Oh that's okay, I've already got your order," Shiori said blandly, and Tokio paused, mouth opened, and blinked.

"What?" she asked finally.

"I've already got your order," Shiori repeated. "Kuno's finishing it up."

Tokio stared at her.

"But I haven't told you what I wanted yet," she said finally, eyes still wide and confused.

"Saitou-san ordered for you," Shiori informed her with obvious relish and a wide, Cheshire cat grin.

Her very first thought upon hearing that was that newly promoted Assistant Inspector Saitou was a big presumptuous ass and ought to have his knee caps broken for it. Her second thought was more rational (and decidedly less violent): Why in the world would he order for her?

When her order came out, Tokio opened the bag and peeked in and recognized the smell immediately: he'd ordered udon for her. And by some incredible stroke of luck, udon was exactly what she'd been about to order.

"Huh," she said finally, plucking a pair of chopsticks from the bowl and placing them in her bag mechanically.

"He already paid, too," Shiori said, and Tokio nodded and absentmindedly wished her a good day and left the luncheonette, thoughtful.

In the end, though, she smiled and hugged the bag a little closer.

As it turned out, an insufferable police inspector and udon were just the ticket for getting over the "got-your-ass-dumped" blues.


	29. Christmas Cake

**Title:** Christmas Cake

**Word Count:** 700

**Summary:** Nobody messes with Tokio—**nobody**.

**A/N:** An unusual bit of cultural trivia inspired this one; in Japan, on Christmas Eve, you go out to a bakery and buy a Christmas Cake, and any that haven't been sold by December 25th have their prices drastically reduced so as to sell them off before they're no good. Back in the '80s, any woman not married by her 25th birthday was referred to as a "Christmas Cake," the understanding being that she was now past her prime and would have to settle for what she could get and lower her standards. This expression has now fallen out of use, as most younger people have never even heard of it. Well enough of that—enjoy!

* * *

He had no idea how old she was exactly (because for some odd reason she refused to tell him), but Saitou knew that she had to be older than twenty, because he'd known her for six years now and most businesses didn't hire snot-nosed teenagers to important positions like being Associate Director of a museum. 

And this was perfectly fine by him, even if it did make him feel vaguely pedophilic, because even though she probably wasn't that much younger than him she looked like a frickin' kid. But that was okay, because he figured she was of legal age already, so he wasn't lusting after a minor like some dirty old man, and wasn't being a complete hypocrite when he arrested those dirty old men he didn't want to be like. One because he wasn't old (_damn it_), and two because they tended to be creepy and while he was something of a dick (okay, he was a _huge_ dick), he was _not_ creepy.

So, in summation, he was fine with guessing how old Tokio was, because she had to be over twenty and he was cool with that.

And then came the fateful day that one of the luncheonette patrons called her "Christmas Cake."

The guy was new to the luncheonette, and was, in Saitou's estimation, a humongous dickhead, which was saying a lot coming from him. It started because Tokio came in and set her purse down on the counter too close to him by accident, and he sent her a nasty look and loudly said,

"Oi Christmas Cake, mind moving your bag? I'm eatin' here."

The entire luncheonette quieted and watched the man in horrified silence. Shiori's gaze flickered from the man to Tokio, and then to Saitou, who was watching the man with narrowed eyes that bespoke of much pain for Humongous Dickhead in the very near future. Tokio, however, only blinked and smiled and bowed her head in apology.

"I'm very sorry to disturb you sir," she said, picking up her purse and moving it so it sat between her and Saitou. "That was very careless and thoughtless of me."

"Don't apologize," Saitou growled, glaring at the man.

Tokio sent him a warning look.

"Heel, Wolf," she said dryly.

Several choice words later, Saitou was still glaring at the man but had moved out of attack mode at Tokio's behest, and she began their usual game as if nothing had happened. And he knew she really didn't care, because she had different priorities from other women he'd known, but it still pissed him the fuck off because there was nothing wrong with her the way Humongous Dickhead had been implying when he'd called her "Christmas Cake." He'd have tossed her over his shoulder and taken her home and done some _very_ naughty things to her and with her, if only she'd let him. She just wasn't married yet because….

Okay, so he didn't know _why_, but she was a very intelligent woman and he knew she had a very good reason for not being married yet and it had nothing to do with her being inadequate in any way as a woman because she was fucking perfect.

_So there_.

He lingered and didn't leave until Humongous Dickhead did, because he'd only promised not to hurt the guy in the luncheonette, and Saitou was bound and determined to make him eat his words. So he left her with his usual parting shot and she rolled her eyes and seemed to have forgotten the whole incident. Which was great, because when he showed up at the luncheonette the next day and she noticed he was favoring his left hand and asked him what happened, she didn't think anything of it when he dryly replied,

"Oh just some ahou who overstepped his bounds."

Tokio sent him an exasperated look and lectured him on picking fights.

Shiori smiled widely at him and gave him his meals on the house for a week.

And it wasn't as good as having Tokio know he'd defend her honor with all he had, but it was okay compensation—he didn't have to pay for his beloved soba for an entire week, at least.


	30. The Dating Game

**Title:** The Dating Game

**Summary:** The first time it happened, Tokio was surprised and a little amused. By the time it happened for the twentieth time, Tokio was getting worried.

**Word Count:** 530

* * *

The first time it happened, Tokio was surprised and a little amused.

She was on a date with a man Teruhime had introduced her to, and about five minutes into it, Tokio had known this was not going to work, but she figured that at the very least, she could get a nice dinner out of it.

It was during the main course that her thoughts drifted to Saitou, in an absent sort of way. She'd wondered if he'd like the restaurant her date had brought her to:

"This is some pansy-ass crap." the Saitou-in-her-head sneered, and she laughed because it sounded like something he might say, and then had to assure her poor date that she had not been laughing about the recent demise of his beloved lizard, Godzilla.

The second time it happened, she was at a social function with Yuichi-san, and bored out of her mind. And Saitou suddenly came to mind while she was standing next to Yuichi-san and nursing a Cosmopolitan in polite silence while he made conversation. She smiled to herself when she imagined what he might say if he were there with her:

"Oh to hell with this—I'm going to a bar and getting a beer. Come on Chiisai, let's blow this joint."

By the time it happened for the twentieth time, Tokio was getting worried, because she tended to spend most of her dates these days comparing Saitou to whoever she was with, and the poor man never had a chance in hell of winning that competition.

One man almost won because he sort of reminded her of Saitou, just a smarmier version that occasionally made her want to whack him really, really hard. Not that Saitou didn't have that effect on her, but it didn't usually come out of nowhere, sudden and overpowering, the way it did with this guy; with Saitou, there was usually a build-up, a gradual progression in the urge to do him violence. So she was sort of glad, when he ran out of his own apartment screaming at the top of his lungs the night he found out who her father was. Maybe her only regret was that she had sex with him before their relationship ended, but even that wasn't a complete loss, as far as she was concerned—at least she wasn't going to die a virgin now.

It also helped that Saitou-in-her-head scoffed:

"What a fucking pussy."

But she still wasn't entirely comfortable with this weird penchant she had for thinking of Saitou at wildly inappropriate or random times. It seemed a little obsessive and sad to her, that she was reduced to escaping into her head.

Not that she ever shared this tendency with him, of course—he teased her enough as it was. If he heard she was thinking of him when she was with other men, she'd never live it down.

So Tokio resigned herself to a life of dating men who weren't Saitou and then subconsciously punishing them for it.

And if that was a little twisted, well, it shouldn't really come as much of a surprise—the object of her affections was one twisted guy, after all.


	31. Mama's Boy

**Title:** Mama's Boy

**Summary:** Whether you want her to be or not, Mom is always there for you.

**Word Count:** 759

**A/N:** I decided to upload something for Mother's Day, since I do it for Father's Day (that was seriously my rationale for this, I'm not kidding). So, you get a drabble in honor of the day.

For all the mommies out there. Enjoy.

* * *

He's still hungover when his mother calls him at eleven and starts babbling about how happy she is for him.

_No more challenging the old man to a drinking contest_, Saitou decides, holding a pack of ice to his aching head as he sits on the side of his bed, the blinds tightly drawn because today, light of any and all kinds is his mortal enemy.

"Oh Haji-chan, I've been going to the temple and praying for something like this for you for the last year," his mother gushes.

He sighs quietly, his manly pride taking a direct hit at being called by his childhood nickname. But he doesn't say anything, because this woman is his mother, and he supposes—though he is not entirely happy to admit this even to himself—that she is entitled to use the nickname after spending an entire day in labor with him while he decided whether or not to come out of his own volition.

Revenge of a motherly slant, if you will.

"Something like what, Mom?" he asks, feeling tired and queasy and not really up to a conversation, but ignoring a phone call from his mother just didn't happen.

He's not quite a mama's boy (like Okita, for example), but he's pretty damn close.

"Tokio-san, silly boy."

Time kindly pauses while Saitou's head explodes.

"What?" he asks after a few stunned seconds; the ice pack has fallen on his foot, but since he's got bigger concerns than a slowly-developing case of frostbite right now, he ignores it.

"Tokio-san," his mother says, uncertain now. "That _is_ her name, isn't it? I'm positive that's the name your father told me—"

"Whoa, wait a second, what are you talking about?"

"That nice girl you're seeing," his mother says, the uncertainty more present in her voice.

"I'm not seeing anyone, Mom," he says.

"Well then who's Tokio-san?" his mother asks, now completely bewildered.

"She's a friend of mine," he says, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Your father said she sounded like more than a friend," his mother replies.

"Dad's _crazy_, Mom," he says flatly.

"Hajime," she chides.

"Look, Mom, trust me, I'd tell you," he says.

"Would you?"

He decides to ignore her suspicious tone—she knows him better than anyone else, so the doubt is entirely justified.

"Yes, Mom," he says patiently.

"Oh," she says, then sighs, and Saitou feels a pang of regret for bursting her bubble; if he didn't know for a fact that she'd demand he bring Tokio to the house for dinner that very night, he'd have let her live on in blissful ignorance.

"I'm sorry Mom," he feels compelled to say.

"Oh you don't have to apologize Haji-chan," she says, voice warm. "I'm just disappointed for your sake—it's about time you found a nice girl."

"I'll look harder," he says, though he knows he won't—he's already found a nice girl that he knows his mother would love, and not just because it's been a while since he brought a girl home to meet his parents.

His mother laughs, and he grins a little.

"I'm sure you will," she says. "And I'll keep praying at the temple for you."

"_Mom_," he whines (though he will never admit that he does, in fact, whine on occasion, and usually with his mother).

"Haji-chan, you need all the help you can get," his mother says.

The fact that his mother is a very sweet woman who doesn't mean for that to sound as horrible as it comes out keeps him from being hurt.

Much, anyway.

Despite that, he offers to take her out to lunch, even though his head is still killing him and the mere thought of food makes him gag—his parents don't go out to eat much, and he doesn't mind spending the money on the woman who changed his diapers for the first year of his life. And he keeps his peace about the temple thing; it's a little embarrassing that his mother is praying for a wife for him, but he decides he can deal with the embarrassment (so long as no one outside family knows about it, and even then, he'd prefer that the family not know—this was perfect blackmail material).

It gives her something to do, and it's not like he believes that crap actually works anyway.

He's willing to concede, a year later, that there may be something to the hokum when Tokio finally starts taking his advances seriously.

Mothers did tend to know about these things, after all.


	32. Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better

**Title:** Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better

**Summary:** "Voilà," he said beside her ear, breath warm. "A crane."

**Word Count:** 545

**A/N:** Reading a Sess/Kag fic over at Dokuga inspired this one, if you can believe that. It was mostly the title of the section I was reading, "Voilà A Crane," that got my synapse firing (for better or worse). Which made me think of someone (like our favorite odd couple?) saying it, while at the same time present a perfect origami crane.

**Also:** Happy Thanksgiving!

* * *

Tokio didn't think of herself as an especially competitive person. Sure, some times Enishi goaded it out of her, but he had to really work at it and by the time he got her interested, he'd lost interest.

But something about Saitou brought it out of her. She didn't know what the hell it was about the man, but all he had to do was say something obnoxious in just the right tone, and she was suddenly damned if she didn't make him eat his words.

Maybe it was the smirk.

One of her more ignoble challenges involved origami. She could never figure out exactly how the conversation had started, but she _did_ know how Saitou had activated her otherwise dormant competitive streak. It was when he said,

"You don't really look like the origami type, Chiisai."

Which her mind had decided to interpret as:

"Yeah right, like you can do origami."

She had glared at him, then snapped the paper placemat from in front of him and carefully folded and ripped off the excess until she had the size she wanted. She then began making her folds, crisp and precise, and within a minute she produced a crane bearing the name of the luncheonette on various places of his little paper body so as to make attempting to read the characters a real challenge.

"Voilà, a crane," she said with a feral smile in his direction.

He eyed her, then the crane, then her again.

"Very nice," he said, tone bland. Then he plucked a discarded gum wrapper from the counter and began folding it, and Tokio watched him, baffled, for several moments, until she began to recognize the series of folds he was executing, and then stared at him in frank disbelief.

He didn't honestly think he could fold a _crane_ out of a _gum wrapper_, did he? While wearing _gloves_, no less? The man was _clearly_ crazy—

A perfect, tiny crane suddenly appeared in front of her, sitting innocently on a bed of white—his glove, she realized after a moment.

_I'll be damned_, she thought, staring at the little crane in shock. _That bastard actually did it—_

"Voilà," he said beside her ear, breath warm. "A crane."

She stared at the crane, then looked at him; he was watching her, expression smug.

"I hope you choke on your soba," she said calmly.

He laughed and straightened, and Tokio ignored him the rest of the time he was in the luncheonette.

He'd left the gum wrapper crane with her, having the gall to tip his hat to her as he presented it to her. She'd thrown him a black look, but in the end, she'd taken the tiny crane with her to the museum and later, home, where it found a permanent home on her night table.

She was impressed, not that she'd ever say so. No living with the man, then.

She also let him think she had thrown out the little crane in a fit of pettiness. But that was only because he was obnoxious enough to ask her if she was in the mood to fold anymore cranes when he saw her the next day.

…Well, no one ever said she had to be a good sport about it.


	33. Memento

**Title:** Memento

**Summary:** So he contented himself with these little tokens he gave to her, hoping that she kept at least a few of them.

**Word Count:** 461

* * *

It began, as the majority of their most cherished (at least on his end) rituals, did: accidentally and out of much silliness.

One day he swiped her receipt, just to annoy her (which it did, even though she tired to hide it). Because it worked so well, he began to regularly swipe her receipts. Sometimes he gave them back. And most times when he did, he pulled a pen out of his pocket and scribbled something on the receipt. Whatever he scribbled on the receipt varied; most of the time, he just doodled something in the corners (like: a wolf; a little man in a rough approximation of the MPD uniform; a woman with shapely legs wearing a business suit with an enticingly short skirt; a bowl of soba with kanji above it reading "Better than curry"), though once he did a rough sketch of her face over the majority of the receipt that he thought was pretty good. He thought she might have thought it was pretty good too, just because of the way she blushed and then shoved it into her purse when he gave it back to her.

It took her a while, but she eventually got used to it, and she even started making suggestions on what he should do with the receipt today, which is what led to a few Hangman and Tic-Tac-Toe games. Sometimes she asked him to doodle Shiori, or something at random from the menu ("_Not_ soba, you jerk," she'd say when he said he knew what he was going to draw), but most of the time, when he'd decided he was going to doodle on her receipt, she was content to let him do whatever he wanted.

Every once in a while he thought about scribbling his number on the receipt, but there was something so very forward about that that made him uncomfortable. Besides, he didn't think he'd be able to ignore the disappointment he'd feel when she didn't call him.

So he contented himself with these little tokens he gave to her, hoping that she kept at least a few of them.

Then one day he happened to glance over at her when she was digging through her billfold for the yen so they could resolve another one of their inane arguments, and saw the slightly crumpled but otherwise pristine receipt that he'd sketched her on in there, clearly visible to whoever looked into the billfold, and it was the first time in seven years he thought he might actually have a shot.

It was also when he started to think about writing his number on her receipts again with any seriousness.

She'd kept a sketch he'd done for her five years ago, after all.

That _had_ to mean _something_.


	34. Sexy

**Title:** Sexy

**Summary:** Saitou Hajime: bringing sexy back since always.

**Word Count:** 565

**A/N:** …I'm sorry about the summary. I really couldn't resist, even as much as I dislike Justin Timberlake (for those that don't know how much: it's a lot.). Ah well.

* * *

"Sooooo…who is he?"

Tokio sends Sada an annoyed look.

"Who?" she asks, deciding to play dumb because it's safer.

"The guy," Sada says, rolling her eyes. "Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about, Tokio. I know you, remember?"

"Whatever," Tokio responds, even though she knows her sister has a point—no one knows her quite as well as Sada, which is a good and also bad thing.

Right now? Probably bad.

"Well?" Sada prods, and Tokio sighs.

"What makes you say there's a guy?" she asks irritably.

"Because I can tell," Sada replies easily while she admires a shop window. "I can tell lots of things, like that you've been thinking about him for a long time, and that you totally like him—"

"I do _not_ he's infuriating," Tokio cut in indignantly, and Sada looked over at her and smirked and Tokio knew she'd been had. "I hate you."

"So who is he?"

Tokio sighs and decides to just give in—what's the point, really, when Sada already knows?

She knows she's surprised her sister when she tells her about Saitou—he's not really anything like any other man she's ever been attracted to—because she can see in Sada's face that she wasn't expecting anything like him.

"Huh," Sada says finally. "So you like him."

"Some of the time," Tokio says with emphasis, thinking of how frustrating dealing with him can be.

"All of the time," Sada corrects with a grin that widens when Tokio sends her a flat look. "Is he good-looking?"

Tokio considers the question, then considers the definition of good-looking, and then Sada's definition of it. Then:

"Not really."

Sada blinks. "Oh?"

"He's got…he's really tall, and lean—I guess he'd be lanky?—but he hasn't got a handsome face, exactly. It's full of shadows and hollows, and actually, he usually looks like he's annoyed or angry, but…"

Sada watches her expectantly, allowing silence to be her prompting.

"It…works for him?" Tokio concludes finally.

As soon as she says the words, she realizes they're true. Because Saitou isn't what you'd call gorgeous or handsome or good-looking. His face is made a little too severely for that. But somehow, that's okay.

"It works for him," Tokio repeats, all uncertainty gone from her voice.

"Hm," is all Sada has to add. She considers Tokio, then asks, "Is he sexy?"

Tokio blushes at the question, and Sada grins.

"So he is," she concludes happily. "I shall call him…_Sexy_."

"Sada!" Tokio yelps, appalled but also amused.

"What?" Sada asks, as if she didn't know. "Oh, I haven't actually met him yet, have I? I suppose it wouldn't be appropriate to call him Sexy like that. Okay: I shall call him…_Sexy–san_."

"You're deranged," Tokio says, shaking her head.

"And you're in love with the guy," Sada replies, shocking Tokio silent for a moment.

"No I'm not," she protests. "I mean, I like him, but I—"

"You love him," Sada says, looping her arm through Tokio's. "I know you best, Sis. Just promise me one thing."

"What?" she asks, foreboding creeping through her, and she feels justified when she sees the devious smirk appear on her sister's face.

"You tell me how good in bed he is when you finally sleep with him," Sada says. "And I _will_ want details."

Sada's knowing her best?

Yeah, that was definitely a _bad_ thing.


	35. Back to the Drawing Board

**Title:** Back to the Drawing Board

**Summary:** It was a tricky bit of goods, this plotting business.

**Word Count:** 465

* * *

Saitou was a man of action. He was the guy who got shit done, whether it was for Hijikata or for his father or for himself. He examined a problem from all angles quickly, deduced the most successful plan of attack and implemented it, with stunningly excellent results nine out of ten times.

Something about Tokio, however, made him fucking useless.

Or maybe stupid was more accurate.

Yeah, "fucking stupid" sounded far more truthful.

In the beginning, he'd spun more fantasies about her than anything else, about ninety percent of which would have gotten him slapped, if not worse, had she ever known about them. But as time had passed, and years had gone by, and Tokio had gradually grown in importance for him, fantasies had turned into plans.

Which would have been fine…only he never implemented a single one of them.

This was not as fine.

None of his plans ever seemed quite right—this was another skill of his, the ability to predict (fairly accurately, as a matter of fact) the probability that the outcome of any given plan would succeed or fail. And all of his various plans concerning Tokio were doomed to failure, and he couldn't understand why that was, until he was walking back to the precinct one day, soba tucked securely under his arm. In his mind he was going back over his conversation with Tokio, and he remembered he'd asked her a question—not too personal in nature, because that might prompt her to ask a question in kind, and he couldn't bring himself to tell her personal things, but it was personal enough—and…not gotten a response. He'd frowned at this realization, wondering why that was, and then remembered that her reply of sorts had led to an argument. One thought led to another, and then Saitou was going back over all the questions he could remember ever asking her (a lot, as it turned out), and finding that he'd never gotten an answer to any of them.

It took a few seconds to come to him, but when it did he was so surprised at how simple but effective her avoidance strategy was that he'd abruptly stopped in the middle of the sidewalk: she threw him off the scent by using his fatal weakness—his love of a good argument with her—against him.

_Oh very well played, Chiisai_, he thought with approval, even as another part of him was incensed at not having noticed this predilection sooner.

No matter; he'd noticed it, and that was what was important (or so he tried to console himself). Now, he'd have to change his plan of attack accordingly. At that he frowned—easier said than done.

Saitou sighed.

It was a tricky bit of goods, this plotting business.


	36. Ten More

**Title:** Ten More

**Summary:** "Ten" flipped; 10 small things about her Wolf that make Chiisai happy…sort of.

**Word Count:** 660

* * *

1. There are moments when she wishes she could ignore him, but she stopped trying a long time ago, admitting ignoble defeat: she figures that if after all this time she hasn't even been able to get close, it's useless to keep trying.

2. Even when he's being insufferable (which is often), she loves to listen to his voice. If she were a tiny bit less cowardly, she might tell him he has a great voice; the truth is, she's far more afraid of her own embarrassment and his reaction to the revelation than of his (_over-inflated_) ego.

3. She doesn't like to share things about herself with him because she's afraid that he'll stop treating her the way he does. Because, obnoxiousness aside, he's the only man (Papa doesn't count) who ever treated her like a _dainty woman_, and she enjoys it and appreciates it and doesn't want to lose it yet.

Or ever, actually.

4. Despite the fact that he guards himself when they speak the way that she does, she gets the feeling that his reasons are very different. He seems _years_ older than her, like he's seen decades and decades of _stuff_, so she's shocked to learn he's only got two years on her…

…and also relieved, because while she has nothing against old men, she doesn't really want to be lusting after them either.

5. She's astonished by what he knows when she learns how much older he is than her. It doesn't seem possible that he should be so knowledgeable about so much—because his mind is home to millions of odd facts that are entirely useless in the day-to-day grind—but she knows better than to admit to any kind of admiration; that wouldn't be in keeping with her generally disdainful attitude towards his antics at all, and she has a reputation to protect.

6. He's still far too tall. But she doesn't really see it as anything more than an obstacle that isn't so hard to surmount with the right pair of heels.

7. That. Smirk. Would. Be. The. _Death_. Of. Her.

…but Tokio can't honestly find it in herself to care as much as she knows she should.

8. He asked her, once, why she always let him know if she was going to be coming by the luncheonette for lunch on her day off or not. She blinked, surprised, and said she'd have appreciated the same consideration, if it had been her, so she just…did. He eyed her for a long moment before slowly grinning in a way that made her heart flop over and said he appreciated the consideration.

She has since made it her life's mission to get him to smile at her like that more often, and if it means being the most thoughtful person in the history of ever, well, damn it, so be it.

9. It eventually strikes her one day that despite the many people he could spend his time talking to, he only talks to her and Shiori. And once she comes in, he almost exclusively speaks to her, unless there is prompting from the older woman. That realization does strange things to her: it makes her nervous to think that she has so much of the man's undivided attention (and how in the _world_ had she missed that, anyway?!), but it also flatters the hell out of her that he considers her important enough to pay attention to.

10. She doesn't actually hate the Chiisai thing nearly as much as she seems to. She doesn't particularly like the reminder that, compared to him, she's basically a midget, but there's a certain amount of affection in the way he says it that diffuses the worst of her anger at him over the slight against her height—just enough to forgive him and accept her new position in his life.

It isn't really such a terrible place to be, she reflects with a smile.


End file.
